


the sky will cry as light is fading

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse Averted Via [REDACTED], Chronic Illness, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Sick Klaus Hargreeves, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Time seems to slow down inside that doctor's office as soon as those word leave her mouth. Klaus stares at her, watches her lips move, and his ears ring.The threat of this had always been in the back of his mind, of course. He knew the risks he danced with each time he got desperate, but he had always thought that it would never happen to him. He had never really thought this would happen. But it has happened. It happened a long time ago, actually, and he's been letting it fester inside of him until it has wrung him dry and poisoned him.Klaus blinks, looking down at the leaflet that the doctor slides over her desk to him.Acquired immunodeficiency syndrome, it says, in small font. In larger font beneath that, bolded;AIDS.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 207
Kudos: 512





	1. Chapter 1

Klaus feels sick; _shocker_.

The thing is, Klaus _always_ feels sick. He can't remember when the last time was when he went through a day without a headache, a cough, cramps, chills, or dizziness or nausea, and that was typically on a good day. Although he'd like to boast that his time on the streets has built up his immune system and made it just about as strong as Luther's, it is, actually, the complete opposite; his immune system is horrifically weak and he has become familiar with the feeling of dread that comes whenever the news has announced a new wave of some illness, knowing that unless he locks himself inside somewhere then he is probably going to catch it.

Ironically, he thinks that if his siblings ever paid attention to it, they'd realise that his stints in rehab typically occurred around winter or during outbreaks of illnesses. At the very least he'd have somewhere warm and safe to be and he'd be given medical attention if ill. 

He is used to a cold knocking him out and leaving him to cough up his lungs in the back of a crack den somewhere, or spending days half-delirious with a fever behind a dumpster, or chasing away the fatigue of the flu with cocaine. He is used to waking up stiff and sore and cramping, leaning against walls when his head span, or powering through a pounding headache. It is basically simply a part of the terms and conditions of being a homeless addict; he's never seen another one that isn't ill or doesn't look it. 

The thing is, it always passes, or it is always manageable. There is nausea, but he doesn't throw up when he eats, so he is fine. There's dizziness, but he hardly passes out. The cramps pass swiftly and if he is cold then he goes indoors for a while. He's rarely incapacitated by it and he has become used to it now that he forgets that he really shouldn't feel like that constantly.

But substituting meals for chemicals and sleeping in cold places covered in a fine layer of dirt and germs has not exactly accustomed him to a healthy life or body, and he never expected it to.

And plus, can one blame him for still being ill? This is the first time he has been properly clean for the longest period of time in a, quite honestly, horrific amount of time. His body isn't accustomed to sobriety and so when the withdrawals cling to him for longer than usual, he doesn't really bat an eye.

Despite what Ben might say, it isn't even that bad. He's more tired than usual - nightmares would do that to a person. He's lost a bit of weight - his appetite has been chewed up and spit out by cocaine. Chills and aches are common anyway, and he is still a smoker, of course he has a cough. Ben is simply being ridiculous when he insists that Klaus go get himself checked out. The only thing he thinks is worrying is the fact that instead of showing signs of improving, he only ever seems to get worse.

His weight loss hasn’t stopped or even slowed, his cough is consistent, and unless he wants to run the risk of throwing up, he can hardly ever finish half a meal. It isn’t usual for his withdrawals to be so severe so long after coming clean, but he decides he has fucked his body over a million times and by now he has probably pushed it a little too far and he isn’t bouncing back as quickly.

"You've seen me have a seizure in my own vomit," he grumbles, pulling a fluffy pink sock onto his foot, "I don't get why you're crapping yourself now because I don't sleep and cough. Hello, have you met me? Nightmare extraordinaire that runs on tar and nicotine?" He jabs a finger pointedly at the dark packet of cigarettes sitting on his dresser, taunting and tempting. 

Ben huffs, shuffling around his room. "Well, yeah, but you look _ill_ is the thing, Klaus. Not tired, not like a smoker - _well_ \- but _ill_. You’ve lost too much weight, it can’t be good for you.”

Klaus waves one hand dismissively before moving on to pull another sock on, ignoring his brother.

"And it's not even cold and you're wearing thick socks."

"You can't even feel the temperature, Mr Talking Corpse," Klaus retorts. He stands up, stretching his arms out above his head, then trudges to his dresser and sifts through his clothes. His eyes bounce to the window - it is a nice day, and arguably hot, but he still feels cold as if there is a consistent draft running through his bones. He sighs, reaching for an over-sized jumper that he, evidently, must have stolen from Luther at some point in his life. He can't remember when, but even if it was from their teenage years, the thing hangs off Klaus easily. Pairing it with his favoured leather pants, he stuffs his feet into his old army boots, tying the laces messily, grabs his cigarettes and then hauls himself to the door.

Ben matches his pace easily, descending the stairs by his side.

"All I'm saying is that a check-up would be good for you," he insists, hands resting in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Either you're fine and you're fuelling your metabolism one cigarette at a time, or you're ill and you can get some rest."

"You're just jealous because I'm super-model skinny," Klaus declares, entering the kitchen and heading towards one of the windows, past his siblings sitting down for breakfast. He can't be bothered trekking out into the courtyard to smoke so instead he shoves open one of the windows and leans his upper body outside of it, lights his cigarette and inhales deeply until his lungs burn more than usual. The smoke leaves his lips in a cough and his lungs spasm in protest, sending him into a short coughing fit that leaves him groaning in irritation, because even though it is just from the smoke it allows Ben to give him that look, as if he has just won the argument. 

"Hear that?" Says Diego. "That's your body protesting that shit."

"Yeah, it's asking for meth instead," Klaus drawls, tapping ash off and glaring at his brother. He takes another drag, maintaining eye contact all the while, and manages not to break off into uncontrollable coughing this time. 

The only good thing with this new bout of sobriety is the fact that he is getting a rush from nicotine again. He hadn't had that since he first started smoking and it is a small vice when he can't get high anymore. His body feels heavy and his brain light so he leans against the wall in case his balance fails him, playing it off as nonchalant, arms folded over his chest.

"Come actually eat something other than nicotine," Diego says, nodding his head to the awaiting plate of waffles in front of his empty chair. 

"It doesn't get my day started as good," Klaus complains, but he finishes his cigarette and stamps it out against the wall outside before chucking it away. He closes the window, glowering at how cold he has now made the room due to it being open, then crosses to his seat at the table and tumbles into it.

"Are you thinking of quitting smoking?" Vanya asks him, and despite the way she has begun to speak more and more recently, her voice still always shocks him. He throws a smile in her direction.

"Ah, who knows. It's just so _fun_ ," he declares, twirling his fork between his fingertips.

"It stinks," grumbles Luther. Klaus rolls his eyes; stabs his fork in his brother's direction.

"Unlike him. Smoking's hardly even bad for you, relax."

Allison snorts at that and Klaus grins, stabs his waffle, and drops it into his mouth. His appetite still isn't up to par with what it probably should be and so he spends most of the time picking at his breakfast and moving it around his plate until he decides he is done. He stands, leaving his plate for Grace to get, and then turns to the door.

"You have plans today?" Diego asks, standing up too - though he takes his (and Klaus') plate to the sink for Grace. Klaus hums, shrugging his shoulders.

"You know me, always busy. Might go for a serene walk through the park or something."

"I can drive you," Diego offers, and Klaus quirks an eyebrow.

"What a nice offer, but I don't think you really heard the bit about a walk. Which involves, you know. _Walking_."

Diego scoffs, shrugging, and Klaus follows him out of the kitchen. "I offered," he says. Klaus hums.

"And I love you for that, bro, but I'm just gonna go catch some air, as the kids say."

Diego gives him a slightly exasperated look, one Klaus is well familiar with and was aiming to get from him, really, and as Diego tugs on his jacket, so does he. He wraps it around himself, feels fur tickle the back of his hands and his jaw, and then he steps outside. Diego pulls his car keys from his pocket and Klaus wiggles his fingers at him in a wave before spinning around on his heels and heading down the street.

"Where are we going?" Ben asks.

"I'm going for a walk," Klaus repeats. Subconsciously, he tugs out another cigarette and holds it between his lips as he lights it.

"Dentists must hate you," Ben comments.

"My teeth are still white, fuck you. I got those whitening strips."

Ben snorts, looking down at his teeth, and Klaus can't help but grin a little. Smoke tumbles from his lips and dances up into the air. "Remember the time I didn't get a motel room so I could get my nails done instead?"

Ben snickers slightly. "You had a ten-step skin-care routine that you would do behind a dumpster."

Klaus grins, tugging his jacket tighter around him when a breeze picks up. "I looked fabulous when I shot up, let's be real."

Ben's smile falters a bit and Klaus feels a sliver of gilt run through him, but he stabs it out by saying; "do you really want me to get a check-up?"

His brother perks up. “I’ve been begging you to get a check-up for _years_ now, Klaus,” he says. “Please.”

“Well, I’ve been busy until now,” he says. “And plus, now we have Daddy Dearest’s money to pay for doctor’s visits.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, taps ash off it, then takes another drag. He stamps it out when it gets low and threatens to burn his fingers, and then he stuffs both his hands deep within his pockets, raises his shoulders to use the fluffy collar of his coat to partially shield his face from the chill on the air.

The walk to the hospital is slow but refreshing; he’s virtually been stuck in the Academy walls for the past few weeks as they settle down and ensure that Vanya isn’t about to go nuclear once more, looking out for the Commission, and trying to fix their wrongs.

It is almost impressive how far they have come simply because any improvement is incredible for them. They have moved back in to the Academy so that it is easier to be near one another should something happen, most likely either with Vanya or with the Commission. Allison is focusing more on Claire and Diego is trying the police academy once more. He has been able to manifest Ben multiple times, though never for overly long. He likes to imagine he is getting better.

Dave has made no appearance no matter how hard he has tried to conjure him, and his motivation has been at an all-time low lately. He hates to say that he is giving up on Dave, but he finds it hard to remain optimistic when so long has passed and there has not even been a sliver of his presence.

Hospitals are incredibly unnerving while sober. He waves through scrub-clad ghosts, some bloody and dead mid-surgery, some old and emaciated, some young and oblivious, meandering around sterile white corridors. It doesn’t help that he is in the waiting room for a fair amount of time, trying to distract himself in the repetitive motion of his bouncing leg, chewing his nail and staring out a nearby window that overlooks the street. He can see staff on break outside getting some air, can see cars pulling in, people out for walks.

He has always hated hospitals. If not for the sheer amount of ghosts and the fact that he can never exactly be sure whether or not someone is alive or dead here, it is the simple air it has around it. The depression, the heavy grief, the hopelessness and the fear and the panic. The wide-eyes of people anxiously sitting in the waiting area, the trembling hands of parents, the glossy, lost expression on people who stumble out with their hands clutching papers of diagnoses and prescriptions, the stress and the self-blame on doctors and nurses as they run to and fro with a façade of steely determination.

Hospitals are the most draining places to be, so full of emotion and death, and he despises them. He should have just gotten Grace to check him over and he would be done by now, but he had wanted the fresh air and the chance to be alone, besides Ben.

His name is called. Relieved, he stands and follows a small nurse through a maze of corridors that all look the same, into an office with a nice doctor who listens to him rattle on and on about his symptoms. He explains, briefly, how he has a medical record hidden somewhere in the hospital that is about five miles long full of, mostly, drug-related incidents, and how that is now in the past but he is still a smoker, and he assumes that half of these symptoms are lingering withdrawals. He tugs down the collar of his jumper to show the doctor a new spot he had found on the back of his shoulders the other day, something Ben hasn’t noticed, and the doctor purses her lips.

She wants to take a blood test. Klaus is fine with that. If he closes his eyes when the needle goes in, he can almost convince himself that he should be feeling a high in a few moments. It never comes, and she takes his blood and biopsy of the spot, the lesion, on his shoulder and tells him to sit in the waiting room – not go home, but to wait.

“Guess I’m a priority,” Klaus jokes to Ben, settling back down outside, and then he focuses on biting his nails until his name is called once more. He isn’t used to having his tests done so quickly, to having results in person.

But it will put Ben’s mind at ease to get this over with and he will go out in perfect health, able to shove it in his brother’s face, and return to the knitting resting on his bed.

That does not happen.

“What?” Klaus asks, blinking rapidly as if it might clear the static echoing in his mind. His gaze bounces down at the paper on the desk in front of him and then back up at the doctor’s kind, apologetic face.

“I’m sorry,” she offers, and her fingers fiddle with something off to the side; she slides something towards him on the desk. “Acquired immunodeficiency syndrome; the last stage of HIV. HIV attacks your CD4 blood cells and we can often tell the progression from the count of your cells now; a healthy immune system ought to have a count of around five-hundred to sixteen-hundred; AIDS is categorised when a person has less than two-hundred.” Her eyes jump down to the paper turned to face her. “Yours-“

“I don’t have HIV,” Klaus interrupts, unable to stop himself. He lets out a small, nervous laugh, leaning back in the leather chair he is on. “I’ve – I think I’d know if I had that by now. Doesn’t it take – it takes, like, years to even become AIDS, right? I’d know by now whether or not I had that.”

The doctor exhales softly, smiling at him. “Typically, yes,” she says with a nod. “It can take a long time for it to progress to that stage, and sometimes there can be very few symptoms; easy to shrug off, especially in your situation. But I’m afraid that there is the rare case where it progresses quickly, and especially in cases where the person is more vulnerable to illnesses and unable to get medical care. Things like drug use and smoking and homelessness often only accelerate it. I can’t say for sure how long you have had it or when it progressed.” She purses her lips together, reaches for another piece of paper.

“But if you had to guess?” Klaus asks. She pauses, looking back up to him.

“If I had to guess, I would say upwards of four years,” she says. Klaus exhales slowly, flexes his fingers over the arm of the chair and nods.

“Alright. Alright. What now, then?”

She offers him another smile. Klaus hates it. “The results from the biopsy,” a gesture to the examined shoulder, “along with the symptoms you’ve already told me and this diagnosis, shows what is called Kaposi’s Sarcoma – a form of cancer often associated with AIDs, especially when untreated – the good thing is that it doesn’t seem to have progressed too rapidly yet from what I can see physically and it can be treated with the same antiretroviral therapy you’ll be prescribed to treat AIDS, and it has a high rate of controlling it. I strongly advise you start it immediately; it isn’t a cure, but it can help manage it and…”

Klaus’ ears ring. He blinks at the doctor and watches her lips move silently, then finally looks down towards the multitude of papers and leaflets she has been offering him, splayed out on her desk. He swallows, his tongue dashing out across his lips, and then he looks up. She is still talking.

“I’ll – I’ll start that, then,” he says, interrupting her once more though he doesn’t think it really matters when he can’t tune his ears in to listen to her. He forces a smile. “Just prescribe me a cocktail to go and I’ll grab it.”

She offers a sad smile. Her fingers tap, tap, tap on her keyboard. Everything feels as if it is happening in slow motion and he goes with it; nods his head, picks up on key words, takes what he is handed and agrees to more appointments to monitor his progress, agrees to call if his symptoms get worse in any way.

Hands almost full, he turns to the door, her following close behind. He stops, hand resting on it, as a thought springs to mind and makes his blood run cold.

“Could-“ he says, then clears his throat and swallows, glaring coldly at the wooden door close to him. “Could I have spread that to anyone?” He asks. Same smile, same soft eyes.

“If you’ve shared needles or had unprotected sex while it is active, you could have, yes,” she says, apologetic like she has been for this whole session. Klaus swallows down his nausea.

“Right,” he says, and he opens the door and steps outside.

He is half tempted to throw away all of the leaflets she has given him when he sees the first trash can outside. Half tempted to throw away his new bag of prescription pills, too. He only just manages to stop himself, folding up the paper and stuffing it all into his coat pockets, holding it all inside with his hands. He watches his feet as they carry him down the street and away from the hospital, head tilted down almost shamefully.

He isn’t sure if he is more disturbed by the fact that he has had this for years, oblivious and ignorant, or by the fact that he could have, and undoubtedly has, spread it, and he knows who it would have been to.

He throws his leaflets and medication into the drawer beside his bed when he returns to the Academy, and then he kneels in front of the toilet and retches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a doctor, so if you have any corrections or advise for hospital scenes, feel free to say so! I am but a writer furiously trying to understand medical articles while doing research


	2. Chapter 2

Two pills a day. He looks down at the two bottles in his hand, a cocktail of multiple drugs comprised into the simple form of one pill, designed just for him and what the doctor had thought would be best for him. The leaflet had said one prescription was typically the usual. Klaus has two. He doesn’t read the labels; he isn’t about to try and decipher what any of it means and make himself paranoid by reading the potential side-effects. Instead, he simply drops one of each into his palm and throws them back down his throat with smooth ease. He screws the bottles shut and return them to his drawer.

“Klaus,” says Ben, like he has been repeating since he stepped outside of that doctor’s office. “I-“

“Do you think it was the needles or the sex?” Klaus asks absently, sifting through his leaflets and humming. “I did both a fair amount, didn’t I? I’m not sure what would be more likely-“

“Klaus-“

“I mean, needles sound more dirty, right? But I think I shared them less than the amount of times I let a guy fuck me without a condom-“

“Klaus-“

“And, you know, I don’t really know why I did that – you can get them fucking anywhere, really, and they always had them with them, but men always complain about it not feeling as good and when you’ve not had coke _or_ molly in three days, you get a bit desperate-“

“ _Klaus_ ,” Ben yells, effectively cutting him off. Despite himself, Klaus startles and lifts his head to stare at his brother, eyes wide for a moment as his façade falters. “Talk to me, Klaus-“

“I am, actually,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It was a fair question – I’m gonna say it was the sex, though. You know how many people lie about being clean? A lot. Oh, I did, too,” Klaus says with a little laugh, shoulders bobbing. “I lied about that. I’m like a rat, you know, just scuttling about and spreading disease-“

“Klaus,” Ben says pleadingly and Klaus stares determinedly down at his hands. This time, Klaus sighs, staring down at his hands.

“Ben, I don’t know what you want me to say, I – what am I supposed to say? Do you know how many people I’ve slept with and told them I’m clean? Like, just random people for fun, and do they know? And – and _Dave_ , Ben-“ He cuts himself off, dropping his face into his hands, inhaling raggedly. “We didn’t – not all the time. I – fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He digs the heels of his hands against his eyes, hissing air between his teeth. “It’s not even, like, HIV, Ben. It’s past that; that was _years_ ago – and the cancer! Cancer! What the fuck’s next?” He runs his hands through his hair, down to the back of his head, sighing loudly, then brings his hands back down to cover his mouth as he stares a hole into the wall opposite him.

Ben is quiet for several moments, fingers drumming anxiously on his thighs, and then he comes over and sits on the bed beside him. He exhales slowly, looking at Klaus. “She said that was curable though, right? You just need to keep on top of the medication and you’ll go back – or maybe you should ask to stay overnight, for observation-“

“I’m not staying in a fucking hospital,” he dismisses with a snort, shaking his head and glancing briefly at him. Ben sighs.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But that – she said that was curable. That’ll be fine, okay? And medicine’s gotten better-“

“ _That_ isn’t curable, Ben,” Klaus mumbles, finally turning to look at him. He sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face and shaking his head to himself. “I should have expected it, huh?”

Ben shakes his head. “Someone else lied to you Klaus,” he says, voice sad. Then; “are you going to tell the others?”

Klaus’ eyes jump to the leaflets on his dresser. He shrugs. “What’re they gonna do about it?” He mutters. Ben gives him a look.

“They’ll be there for you,” he states, and Klaus quirks an eyebrow at him, giving him a sceptical look. He brings his hands back up to his face, shakes his head again and then stands up. He shoves the leaflets into his drawer and then goes for the door. “Klaus?”

“I’m going to take a bath,” he mutters dismissively, trudging out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and leans against it for several moments, staring blankly at the sterile room in front of him, reminiscent to a hospital, and then he shivers and he hurries forwards, running the hot water. He strips his clothes, kicks them aside, and then lingers over the bathtub for a moment. Slowly, he turns his head to the mirror, and takes a few steps closer until he can lean against the sink and scrutinise himself.

His weight loss is already obvious, though he thinks he could hide it with baggy clothes. He ducks his shoulders down until he can stare at the lesion there with cold eyes, and then he looks away. He steps back, and he just looks himself up and down, going over every inch of pale skin, paranoid now that he’s going to start seeing a ton of lesions or rashes spreading out over his body.

Near his hips, his fingers run over a discoloured patch of skin. He scrutinises it, continuously runs his fingers over it as if expecting to either be able to scrub it off or expecting a reaction to touching it, but it doesn’t hurt. He drops his hands to his side, turns away from the mirror, and steps into the bath, sinking down until the water reaches his chin. It is almost too hot, nearly uncomfortably hot, but he simply closes his eyes and exhales slowly.

He isn’t sure the realisation has really hit him yet. He knows, of course, that he has it – multiple things, actually. He understands that. But he struggles to wrap his mind around the fact that it has been years – and his time in Vietnam would have only added another ten months. He can’t even imagine how many people he would have come into contact with; although he only shared needles a few times, he’s never had proof the people he shared with were clean; although he used condoms the majority of the time he had sex, there had been plenty of times where he’d simply not cared; times where he’s had no money to pay a dealer, or too high to care or remember whether or not the other person used a condom.

How many people has he spread it to? How many people don’t know? At least he can get the medication and the doctor’s visits, at least he can be indoors in bed when he doesn’t feel well. A lot of the people he slept with don’t have those opportunities.

And, he thinks, there is only one person he ever slept with in all ten months in Vietnam. After their relationship went from fooling around to something real, there hadn’t always been condoms.

Could he have really given it to Dave?

Klaus closes his eyes as if able to disperse those thoughts, and he sinks lower into his bath. He doesn’t know everyone he’s slept with, but he knows a few of the more frequent people; the half-relationships, the people he crashed with or got high with, familiar faces. He ought to tell them. Even if it’s too late, they deserve to know, he thinks, deserve to have the heads-up to get checked out at the very least.

He cups his hands beneath the water and splashes it over his face.

Will he tell his siblings? He has no idea how he’d even go about that. What would they even do about it? The cancer is, so far, curable. He tells himself that that will be fine so long as he sticks to the medication and keeps up with the check-ups. The rest of it – he’ll have to just hide the medication. He can probably pass off being sick as withdrawals, but probably not for much longer; it’s already been too long.

The news, Klaus thinks, is horrific, but he wonders what would have happened should he continue to ignore Ben’s insistence and waited even longer. Would his immune system just crash and he’d be wheeled into hospital, hacking up his own lungs, only to be diagnosed with AIDS, terminal cancer, and a list five miles long of just about any and every opportunistic infection?

He tries not to think about it; he knows now, both too late and thankfully early enough for some of it. Sulking over possibilities and what if’s will do nothing.

With a sigh, he heaves himself out of the tub, drains it, and wraps himself up in towels before trudging out to his bedroom. He fumbles to pull his clothes back on, discarding the towels in a heap on his bedroom floor, and then he falls back onto his bed, narrowly avoiding hitting his head off the wall.

His eyes fall onto the packet of cigarettes he had set on his dresser. “Guess I’m quitting smoking too, huh?” He muses, eyes flicking to Ben. Part of him is bitter and wants to smoke the entire packet until it makes him vomit out of spite to himself, but the rational part of him musters up enough volume to be heard. The cancer is curable and he’d rather keep it that way.

“About time,” Ben offers, a weak attempt at a joke made even weaker by the sad expression on his face. With a sigh, Klaus swipes them, stands up, and heads to the kitchen.

Diego and Grace are there. “Thought you’d be out longer,” Klaus comments absently, slightly surprised to see his brother back home already. Diego shrugs, putting something into the fridge.

“I was just out to get groceries for Mom,” he states. He eyes Klaus as he opens drawers, hands sifting carelessly through cutlery. He raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for scissors,” he says, pursing his lips.

“You aren’t allowed sharp things,” says Diego, and Klaus snorts. “Why?”

He holds up his cigarettes. “Vanya really inspired me this morning. I’m quitting. I want to cut them up like you always see angry parents do to their rebellious teen’s pack.” Finally, he finds a pair of scissors and he lets out a sound of victory, then crosses to the trash can against the wall, flipping it open.

“Really?” Says Diego, following him slightly. He leans against the wall, watching Klaus fumble to pull out the cigarettes, dropping the box inside, and then he holds them all in one hand and closes the scissors around them. “Well, uh. Good for you, bro.”

Klaus hums his acknowledgement, sawing through the objects and watching them break apart and crumble into the trash with a slight pinch of salt. He shakes his hands to rid them of parts still clinging to them, sighing as he watches it all disappear into the void of a plastic trash bag, and then he closes the lid on it. Cutting them up wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be.

“You should tell him, Klaus,” says Ben, looking between him and Diego. Klaus raises his eyebrows at him.

Diego is already walking back to continue packing up the groceries. “How was your walk?” He asks. Ben gives him a look – not mad or exasperated, but pleading. He stares determinedly at his pale hands fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper. Grace has left the room. It is just them.

Klaus forces a smile. “Serene,” he says, and Diego snorts slightly. Ben deflates. Finishing the groceries, Diego grabs the bags they were in and wanders towards the doors, then comes to stop by Klaus’ side and rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re doing good, bro,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Seriously. Keep with it; the withdrawals won’t last forever.”

Klaus’ smile is bitter and tense. It feels painted on. He has to forcefully drag his gaze back from Diego’s hand and up to his face. “I know,” he says. Diego lingers, then pats his shoulder and turns around, walking out the room.

Klaus leans back against the wall, closing his eyes, and sighs.

###

He knows, thanks to the wonderful multitude of leaflets that he has actually read, that he can’t spread it through simply touching someone. He isn’t going to shake someone’s hand and pass it on to them. He knows that; everyone knows that.

Still, he can’t help but wonder that if he were to have told Diego, would his brother have looked at his hand on his shoulder with a slight grimace, pulling it back? Would hugs turn fleeting and awkward, and touches brief and reluctant due to a mix of misunderstanding and paranoia? He can read it over and over again that touching someone’s arm isn’t going to spread a thing, but he can’t help but feel as if he ought to keep to himself, to not risk it. He’s already given it to enough people.

At the very least, he thinks, he’s done enough drugs to fuck up his blood anyway that Pogo isn’t going to ask him for blood if they need it.

His hands reach out for the ball of yarn on his bed, two knitting needles sticking out of them, and he tugs them out and half-heartedly resumes where he left off last time.

“Why won’t you tell them?”

Klaus blinks, staring up at Ben. “Why should I?” He asks, tone a little sharp, and he returns his gaze to his yarn. “They can’t do anything about it. I don’t think they’re overly interested in hearing about my sexual endeavours.”

Ben gives him a look. “You’re not talking about sex,” he says. “Klaus, still. This – you can’t hide having to take pills every day. And what if something goes wrong? If you get ill and your immune system can’t fight it and you get bad? They’re going to have to know that.”

Klaus sighs heavily, tightening his fingers around the needles in his grasp. “Then I’ll go see that lovely lady in hospital again,” he says with a shrug.

“And if you can’t even get there?” 

He glares at his yarn then glares at Ben. “It’s none of their business, alright? I’m not going to keel over and die tomorrow, Ben.” He heaves a sigh, tense shoulders slumping. “Look… I’ll tell them later. When I want to. But not right now, okay? Just let me – let me rest.”

Ben presses his lips together, frowning, and then he nods. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and Klaus shrugs.

“Not your fault,” he says. “I should’ve listened to all your nagging I guess. Look at you; when have you ever been wrong?” He snorts. He stabs his needles into his ball of yarn once more, then throws it to the end of his bed where it wedges itself between the wall and his bed.

He reaches, instead, for his headphones. He pulls them over his ears, securing them in place, and hits play to let music drown out his thoughts and the heavy breathing of the old ghost in the corner of his bedroom. He slips down in his bed, tugging the blankets over himself, and he turns his back to his room and closes his eyes.

###

“You slept through lunch, come on, Mom’s making dinner.”

Klaus groans, shoving at Allison’s hands moodily, trying to get her to stop touching him. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Have you ever heard of knocking?” He props himself up on his elbows, scrubbing a hand groggily down his face.

“I did,” Allison says, pointing an accusatory finger at his headphones. “You didn’t hear me.”

Klaus simply groans in response, waving a hand. “I’m coming,” he says. His eyes bounce to his window and he’s faintly surprised to see darkness outside. He never sleeps well or for a long time on a good night, let alone during a random nap.

He heaves himself out of bed, steadying himself on his dresser when his head spins briefly. He weaves around a corpse sprawled out on the staircase, moaning feebly, and then enters the kitchen and is hit by the heavy smell of fresh-cooked food.

He settles into his chair; a plate is set swiftly in front of him. The sound of cutlery scraping against dishes rings in his ears. He watches his hand pick at his food, tearing it into smaller pieces, pushing it around, very occasionally actually bringing a piece to his mouth.

Then; “Klaus is quitting smoking.”

Klaus lifts his head up to stare at Diego, covering his mouth as he chews.

“Really?” Vanya asks, and Klaus swallows heavily, forces another smile and nods.

“What can I say? You really motivated me this morning, Van’.”

“That’s great,” says Allison, smiling encouragingly at him.

“Now I won’t have to walk past you and hold my breath,” Five comments into his coffee mug by his mouth, and Klaus snorts lightly though he recognises the praise for what it is. Even Luther comments his approval, if a little awkwardly. He drops his gaze back to his plate and shivers as a chill runs through him. Sleeping has left him stuffy and clammy, and now his skin turns frigid without the oppressive heat from his covers.

He picks at his food until his stomach gives him a stern warning to stop abruptly or else it’ll throw a violent protest, and so he scrapes his chair along the floor as he stands, taking his plate to set it aside on the counter. He heads to the door.

“Not sticking around?” Five comments. Klaus shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, looking out of the door and into the foyer. “I’ll be upstairs. Gonna try and do a bit of conjuring since it’s dark, you know.”

Five quirks an eyebrow at him, and Klaus trudges heavily out of the room, resting a hand on his stomach to try and soothe it, and then he heads back up to his bedroom.

Turning on his lights to rid every shadow in there, he slumps onto his bed, lips pressed together. Ben leans against the wall, looking out his window, and he says nothing as Klaus rolls back into bed, fumbles for his headphones, and forgoes his usual attempts to either manifest him for longer or to conjure Dave.

He can’t muster up the energy or the motivation to do so. Instead, he simply closes his eyes and feels hot with guilt; feels dirty for a reason he doesn’t want to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts, as always <3


	3. Chapter 3

He reaches the toilet just in time to crash to his knees and expel the contents of his stomach. He clutches it tightly, arms trembling with the force of it, and he slumps when it is done, slapping a hand around the toilet to flush it.

He slides off it, staying nearby as his stomach continues to roll furiously, unsettled, and in that moment all he can think about is how truly miserable he feels. His clothes stick to his body with sweat from his sleep, and his nausea feels worse than yesterday. He continuously sits up a little more, braces himself just above the toilet, swallowing repeatedly as the urge to vomit rises once more only for it to never peak, leaving him instead teetering on the edge. He moves slowly, carefully, as if hyper-aware of not jarring himself and triggering another vomiting spell.

"You're okay," Ben murmurs, crouching by his side. "Just wait it out," he says. Klaus just sighs, gulping down air greedily as if he has never breathed fresh air before, and when the nausea finally begins to settle again, enough that he can stand without the fear of immediately throwing up again, he hobbles towards the sink, cupping his hands beneath the tap and using the water to hurriedly rinse his mouth out. He splashes water over his face, hangs his head low from his shoulders and lets his hands linger beneath the spray of water for several moments before he finds the energy to stand upright and turn off the tap.

"Fuck," he breathes, scrubbing a hand down his chin. There's a knock at the door.

"You okay in there?" Allison asks, voice filtering in through the door.

"Just peachy," he croaks back. Then, a little more reassuringly; "I'm fine."

He stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn't look any better than yesterday; a little more tired, if anything, a little paler. He sighs, turns away from the mirror and then to the door, and Allison is standing outside and raising her eyebrows. "Come sit down," she says, gentle.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he utters, waving one hand dismissively. He goes to his bedroom, peeling off his clothes with a grimace and changing into clean ones, then he follows Allison downstairs and into the kitchen. He sits down, frowning at his breakfast of pancakes and blueberries. He messes it about his plate.

"You don't look too hot," comments Diego, raising an eyebrow at him. Klaus stares at his pancakes. He shrugs.

"A cigarette seems so pleasant right now," he murmurs. He can hardly find enough motivation to maintain his facade; he feels heavy, weights tied to his bones, his mind stuffed full of cotton. He feels dirty, wants to scrub his skin clean. Isn't the medication supposed to make him feel better?

He rests his cheek on his hand and picks at his food, but he only manages a few bites before he has to close his eyes and focus on breathing, trying to force the urge to be sick back down. He wins and when he peels open his eyes, his siblings are all staring at him. He sighs, puts down his fork and stares down at his food, and Grace comes over, resting a hand between his shoulders.

"Still not feeling well?" She asks, picking up his plate.

"Not really," he says. He stands up when she takes a step back, balancing himself with one hand on the dining table, and then he utters, "I'll be upstairs."

He heads to the bathroom first. His skin feels terribly, clammy with sweat, and he is eager to settle into the bathtub and let the water soothe his muscles. He runs it, stands upright, then immediately clutches the rim of the bathtub when his head spins. He leans against it, exhaling slowly, and with one hand he tugs his clothes off and all but drops himself into the tub, water splashing over it.

“Klaus? Klaus, are you okay?” Ben asks, all of a sudden by his side. He tips his head back, resting it on the bathtub, and then he waves a hand dismissively in his brother’s vague direction.

“Dandy,” he breathes. He realises that his underwear is still on, along with one sock that he forgot to pull off. He can’t be bothered taking them off yet. He just needs a moment to breathe.

“I think you should get out the bath,” he says. Klaus grunts. He runs his hands along the rim of the porcelain tub, grips them, and sits up a little straighter.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. “Nothing like a little rush to get my day started, huh?”

“Klaus, this isn’t funny,” Ben says, looming over him in the tub.

“I never said it was,” Klaus drawls, tipping his head back so he can look at him through narrowed eyes, and then he smiles. “But now that you mention it-“

“ _Klaus_ ,” says Ben, and his voice wavers terribly. Klaus falters slightly, staring at the water rippling over his legs, over the dark spot on his left ankle. He wonders if they are spreading and growing now or if there has always been multiple that he just never noticed or acknowledged. He struggles to make himself look up at his brother and face his sad, frightful expression.

“She said that medicine fucks with you,” he says.

“She never said that.”

“She _basically_ said that,” Klaus returns. “There’s probably a side effect list as long as the stick up Dad’s ass. It’s not – it’s not like it was. It’s not that bad anymore. I’m fine,” he repeats, shaking his hands as if he can dispel all the tension and the unspoken things in the air. He heaves himself back out of the tub, sitting on the edge and dripping water all over the floor.

He’s no doctor; his knowledge of what’s going on is limited and full of taboo. He knows about the crisis years ago, knows how bad it could be, he knows it is incurable, he knows medicine has come leaps and bounds since. Words like _manageable_ and _nearly_ -healthy, a lifespan that is _almost_ normal. And then there are the taboos and the paranoias, the past, and he’s afraid that if he looks at the medication, or if he dares to read up on it, he will learn that nothing has changed or improved. If he doesn’t, then he can pretend that nothing will happen, that it won’t get worse.

He drains the tub, throws aside his clothes and wraps a towel around himself, then he hurries to leave Ben in the bathroom on his way to the bedroom. Of course it doesn’t work; Ben just slips through a wall and right up to his side. He doesn’t say anything when Klaus throws on his pants and a shirt, then a sweater, and pulls on a thick fur coat that brushes his calves. He throws back his dose of today’s medication and then he hurries downstairs and out the front door before he can run into any of his siblings.

“Where are we going?” Ben asks, glancing back at the Academy behind him.

“I have some things I need to do,” Klaus states, stuffing his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders slightly. He turns his head into the collar of his jacket to cough, then wraps his jacket tighter around him.

“I think you should just stay inside, Klaus,” Ben murmurs.

“That’s boring,” Klaus mutters. “A little fresh air,” he pauses to cough again, “never killed anyone.”

Ben frowns at him, quiet for a few moments. “What are you doing?” He asks. Klaus walks down streets he only vaguely remembers and recognises. If he narrows his eyes and shakes his head, it looks more familiar to him. Ben’s shoulders slump. “Oh.”

Klaus gives him a brief glance. “I have to do this,” he mutters. Ben gives him a sad look.

“Klaus, it isn’t your fault-“

“It is, Ben,” Klaus snaps. “It _is_ , though.” He looks around the street, scrutinises street doors, then comes up to one with chipped paint on it. He slides inside it, comes face to face with a set of steep, uneven stairs worn down by feet, and he heaves a sigh and uses the banister to propel himself forwards.

The stairs leave him feeling tired and shaky and he has to pause when he comes onto the floor he wants to be on. How he ever managed to clamber up these while high enough to feel as if he has no legs, he has no idea.

He knocks one door and part of him hopes that it doesn’t open.

A few moments pass and he hears fumbling from inside. The doors open to reveal a skinny face framed by long, dark hair, slightly-bloodshot eyes staring back out at Klaus.

“Oh,” they say, eyes widening a fraction in recognition. “Klaus, right?”

Klaus’ lips twitch. The smell of nicotine wafts from the open door and he nods his head. “Me again,” he says, and his smile falters slightly.

“Is there something you wanted?” They ask, raising an eyebrow. “Not to be, like, rude or anything, it’s just been a while. Do you want to come in? I was just about to smoke.”

Klaus shakes his head. “No, no, I can’t, I – uh. I just came by to tell you something,” he says, and they blink, then shrug.

“Alright, sure. Shoot.”

Klaus inhales through his teeth. His fingers curl tighter into his fur coat. “I think you should get tested,” he blurts rapidly, then presses his lips together.

“What?” Says the person, glancing around. “What, like, STDs?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, nodding and looking down at his feet. “I’m – you should get tested soon, if you haven’t, I – I’m sorry.”

He dares to glance up at them, watching them blink in slight confusion. “What’ve you got, like?” They ask, leaning against their doorframe. “We haven’t fucked around in a while, Klaus-“

“AIDS,” he blurts. “I have AIDS. You should get tested.”

They blink, lips parting slightly, eyebrows furrowing, and then what he said seems to click in their mind.

The door slams in his face.

He flinches only slightly at the resounding thud from it and he sighs, loosening his grip on his coat. He lingers outside the door for several moments more, then turns to look at Ben, offering a wavering smile. “ That went better than expected. One down.”

Ben follows him on the way back outside. “Klaus, you don’t have to do this-“

“It might not be too late for them,” Klaus states. “If I don’t tell them, Ben, they’re gonna be in the same position as me right now. I have to tell them.”

Ben sighs, looking away and blinking a few times. “Who else?” He finally asks. Klaus takes a moment before responding.

“I remember a few specific people,” he murmurs. “Unless they’ve moved, or whatever. Lee’s next.”

Ben nods his head.

###

“Are you sure about him?”

“He deserves to know.”

“He’s also an asshole,” Ben huffs, watching Klaus hover outside the door. It looks like it has recently been kicked in and only half-heartedly repairs. That wouldn’t surprise Klaus.

The smell of weed is strong from the entire block of flats but he fears that he’s going to end up getting high from the air outside this door. He sighs heavily, stops procrastinating this, and knocks the door.

He hopes he is too high to answer the door.

Luck has never been on his side and it isn’t now. He hears heavy footsteps and then the door cracks open and a bloodshot eyes scrutinises him, then the door swings open. Klaus half-expects it to fall off its hinges.

“Klaus, man,” says Lee, a tall man with short brown hair and a square jaw, a tattoo of a tiger devouring his entire left shoulder. The knuckle tattoos, Klaus notices, are new. “It’s been a while; what’re you here for? Business or pleasure?” He raises his eyebrows, looks Klaus up and down. “Both?”

Klaus shakes his head. “Neither.”

Lee snorts at that, stepping out of his apartment. “C’mon, I just got the cleanest cut of molly you’ll ever have,” he says, then grins slightly. “It’ll make you scream.”

Klaus shifts uncomfortably on his feet and wonders if he ever noticed how intimidating and, frankly, not-nice a lot of the people he hung out with were, or if he was always so high he never noticed. “No, no, seriously,” Klaus insists, shaking his head. “I just – I need to tell you something.”

Lee leans back against his splintered door, folding his arms over his chest. There is a scar on his abdomen from being stabbed. Klaus isn’t sure if it is new or not. “Well, go on then. There’re plenty better things we could be doing right now, come on – you know I treat you how you like it-“

Klaus slips away from his hands. “You should get tested,” he blurts. Lee pauses, dropping his hand to his side.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just – you should get tested,” Klaus repeats, balling his hands in his coat and looking to the street outside. Lee frowns, looking Klaus up and down with decidedly less lust than previously.

“What’d you get, man?”

Klaus hesitates. Lee shifts, a subtle sign of his short temper and impatience, so Klaus blurts it out.

“AIDS.”

Silence stretches out between them.

Klaus’ head whips to the side when a fist collides with it and he stumbles, one hand lifting to his face and the other catching himself against the wall. Two hands curl into his coat and shove him back against the wall and he curls his hands around Lee’s wrists, grimacing at him. Lee just holds him there against the wall, eyes wide and breathing heavy, and then he shoves Klaus against it and drops his hands.

“You piece of shit,” he mutters, hands flexing, and then he storms back into his apartment and slams the door.

Klaus hovers for a moment, tense, until he can make his body work. He staggers outside, leaning against the wall and exhales slowly.

“Klaus-“

He doesn’t look at Ben. He wipes blood from his nose and says; “Jess – Jess is next.”

###

His knuckles roll over wood. He waits, rocking on the balls of his feet. The door opens.

“Hey, Klaus-“

“Hi,” he says, cutting him off.

“What’re you doing here? I – sorry,” Jess sighs, turning to look over his shoulder at the interrupting sound. Klaus’ blood runs cold at the sound of a child crying in the apartment. Jess shuffles out into the corridor with Klaus, holding the door slightly open. “I don’t want to sound like a dickhead, man, but I – I’ve cleaned up, I don’t-“

“I’m not here for that,” Klaus says, voice hoarse, eyes trained on the door. “Yours?”

Jess smiles, looking down at his feet for a moment. “Sort of,” he says. “Four months. She’s, uh, she’s my boyfriend’s, actually, from a past relationship.”

Klaus lets out a small breath, nodding. Jess continues. “So, what’re you around for? You don’t look too good, Klaus, how is everything?” Jess pauses, tipping his head to the side. “I know we were a while ago, but I got my act cleaned up. If you need help, Klaus.”

He swallows, finally looking back at the shorter man. “I’m clean,” he states, just to delay his actual news. Jess smiles at him.

“Oh, shit, well, that’s great, man,” he says, genuinely, and Klaus stares at his feet before continuing.

“I just – I thought I should tell you I - I think you should get tested,” he murmurs. Jess raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

His fingers fiddle with the fur on his coat. He hesitates and Jess reaches a hand out to set it on his arm, but Klaus dances away from his touch. “I got my blood checked yesterday,” he says determinedly, “and I, uh. I’ve got AIDS. You should – should get checked.”

A few moments pass by and Klaus closes his eyes, expecting either to hear the door slam or to hear a string of curses, or maybe even a hit. He doesn’t expect a hand on his shoulder. It startles him more than a strike would have and he jolts his head up to stare at Jess with wide eyes.

“Do you want to sit down?” He asks, tipping his head back to his door. Klaus blinks, shocked, and he remembers how he and Jess had almost had something real. Almost, but Jess hadn’t been as much of a user or a mess as Klaus had been, and it hadn’t worked out.

“I shouldn’t,” Klaus says, toying anxiously with his lower lip. Jess gives him a look, moves his hand to his wrist and tugs him inside. He closes the door behind him.

“Go to the living room,” he says, “I’ll be a sec.”

Klaus, reluctantly, stumbles into the living room and lowers himself onto the couch, looking around. The walls are a nice cream colour, the furniture new and matching, and there are decorations on the walls. The carpet is clean, the windows are whole, and there is a television and a baby play area.

It decidedly lacks the smell of weed, peeling paint and dirt that had once been all over when Klaus had been around.

Jess returns after a few minutes, the sound of a child crying having stopped. He sets two teas down on the coffee table and sits next to Klaus.

“What happened, then?” He asks, voice soft, and it digs beneath Klaus’ skin. His hands curl around the tea he made him when a shiver runs through his body.

“I, uh, I got clean,” he murmurs. “And the withdrawal symptoms just didn’t stop. My brother, he convinced me to go to the doctor’s, and they took my blood. AIDS,” he says, staring into his cup. “I’ve started the medication, but… I, uh. It’s cancer, as well. Curable, but, you know. Shit.” His shoulders shrug helplessly. Jess takes a sip of his tea before setting it down.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, hand resting on his arm again. “I am, Klaus. Do you know how? Or who?”

Klaus lets out a bitter laugh. “It could’ve been about half the city,” he mutters. “I’ve whored myself out on about every street corner on-“

“Klaus,” says the blond, cutting him off and ducking his head to catch his gaze. “Don’t. People lie; you couldn’t have known. But thank you for telling me now.”

Klaus pauses, staring at him with pursed lips. Jess raises an eyebrow and gestures to the blooming bruise on his cheek. “I’m guessing others haven’t been quite as understanding.”

Klaus snorts. “Can you blame them?” He takes a sip of his tea, almost closes his eyes in relief when he feels it heat its way through his body. “Like, Jess, I’m sorry – you’ve got a place, and a boyfriend, and a kid, and now you’ve got this and your – your boyfriend, too-“

Jess squeezes his arm. “Hey, hey, none of that. Look, I’ll go to the doctor’s later today, but me and Gabriel haven’t had sex. He’s not comfortable yet – it’s surprisingly refreshing from, you know, all the shit from before.” He lets out a small laugh. “Plus; he’s a paramedic. He’d know if he was ill; he’s fine. I’ll go to the doctor’s and I’ll be alright, because you told me now.”

Klaus forces himself to hold eye contact with him, forcing himself to accept the words, and then he lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Look at us now,” he mutters. Jess laughs at that too.

“Big changes,” he agrees. “Both sober, imagine that.”

Klaus snorts, lips twitching. He takes another sip of tea only for it to get caught in his throat as a cough works its way up his throat and he chokes, struggling to swallow it, to breathe and to cough all at the same time.

Jess takes the cup from his grasp, holding it near his mouth with one hand, the other resting on his back. “Hey, hey, just spit it out,” he says, and Klaus does. A drop runs down his chin; Jess sets the cup aside and pats his back until he stops coughing dryly. It leaves him winded, his breath wheezing slightly when the fit stops. Jess keeps rubbing his back.

“Klaus, I think you should be at home right now,” he murmurs, voice gentle. “You’ve got somewhere to go, right? Or do you want me to call someone – you can rest here and I’ll phone them-“

Klaus shakes his head. “I’ve got a place – a proper place,” he croaks, and he heaves himself onto his feet, balancing himself with the couch. Jess stands with him, keeping one hand on his back and the other on his arm.

“Good, good,” he says. “Thank you for coming and telling me, Klaus. Seriously. But you really ought to be inside just now.”

Klaus sighs, scrubbing a shaky hand down his face. “You sound like my brother,” he comments, and Jess smiles.

“Your brother sounds smart. Come on.”

He guides Klaus towards the door, nudging him forwards. “If you’re around, don’t be a stranger. Or if you need somewhere close to stop by; don’t hesitate, alright?”

Klaus lingers in the corridor outside. With a sigh, he nods his head. “Thanks, Jess,” he utters, and he turns to go only for Jess to tug him slightly and pull him into a hug. He startles but finds himself eagerly melting into it as if he has been deprived of touch for ages; winding his arms around him and resting his head on his shoulder. A shiver makes his body tremble and he grits his teeth against the rising urge to yell or to cry that he has been batting down for a while.

Finally, Jess pulls back, hands on his arms. “You’re gonna be alright, Klaus,” he says. “But take care of yourself.”

Klaus forces a smile. “Always,” he says, and Jess returns the smile. He watches Klaus turn, lumbering down the staircase and back out onto the streets, and past a man entering the building with dark brown hair and a paramedic’s uniform on. He holds the door open for Klaus, offering a gentle smile and looking at him like a doctor, and Klaus ducks beneath his arm.

Outside, he rubs his chest, tugs his coat back around himself, and starts walking back to the Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m always interested in hearing what you thought!!


	4. Chapter 4

“Who’d you piss off?” Five asks at the dining table, and Klaus pulls his gaze up from his food that he’s been poking about for the last fifteen minutes. Diego and Luther have finished and Allison is almost there; Five takes his time while eating and Vanya has always been a slow eater. Typically, Klaus would finish before even Luther; just shovelling food into his mouth and hardly chewing it. Now, his plate is virtually full.

“What?” He asks, blinking sluggishly at him. Five gestures to him.

“New bruise,” he states. “Who’d you piss off?” His eyes narrow as he scrutinises Klaus, suspicious, so Klaus stabs a bit of his lasagne and drops it into his mouth.

“Ran into a lovely old friend of mine today,” he states, twirling his fork between his fingertips. “He wasn’t in the best of moods and I didn’t duck fast enough,” he adds. Luther raises an eyebrow at him.

“Why were you with him?” He asks. Klaus gives him a look.

“I ran into him,” he says. “I was out for coffee, dickhead.”

Luther gives him an unamused look and Klaus returns to his meal. He forces himself to eat more as well, knowing that he really ought to. 

He ignores the tense silence that befalls them all, ignoring the air of suspicion as his siblings share silent looks. "You've been out a bit," Vanya comments, aiming her tone for nonchalance. "Where about?"

Klaus huffs quietly, stabbing a carrot with his fork. "I'm going stir crazy in here. I just go out for walks." 

Luther quirks his eyebrow at him. "Where about?" He asks. Klaus sighs.

"The park, the shopping centre; I don't know - wherever my feet take me. Ben's with me all the time, I'm still being supervised, don't worry."

"How is Ben?" Asks Five, and Klaus looks at his brother sat in his chair, invisible.

"Fine." 

He knows what they're really asking. He sets his fork down, closes his eyes and focuses for several moments before heat floods his hands and there's the familiar hitches of breath whenever Ben makes an appearance. 

"Hey, guys," Ben says, voice sounding clearer. 

"Hi Ben," murmurs Vanya, voice soft. 

"I've been with Klaus," he says, and his voice turns sad. Klaus prepares himself to let go of the connection at any moment, but he thinks that he wouldn't even need to consciously choose to do that. "He's just been outside."

Klaus slumps in his chair. He braces his head against one hand, sighing, and notices Ben is quiet again. He opens his eyes; his hands are pale. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'm just tired." He braces himself as he stands up, nudging his chair out his way. "I'll be upstairs," he says, and he trudges his way to the door, eyelids fluttering.

### 

“Well, ironically, I feel worse than before the medication.”

Klaus crosses one leg over the other, shifting on the leather chair. He hasn’t been able to get comfortable these past few days unless he’s laying down in bed. At the very least, that is where he spends most of his time now; either there or the bathroom. He thinks it’s quite ridiculous, honestly, how often he runs between the two rooms. It’s as if his body doesn’t want a single thing inside of it, protesting at the tiniest amount of food or heavy drink and, apparently, his own guts, because he has hardly eaten anything and yet his body still tries to expel everything it can.

“I felt better when I hadn’t slept for four days and was running on cocaine,” he states, which is true. He thinks it is insane how ill he feels now, despite having the illness for years; as if getting the diagnosis actually triggered all of the symptoms. He is half-convinced that he could have ignored it and been perfectly fine, but he had gone and gotten himself checked-up and now feels like death. 

The doctor, who he remembers her name now to be Jaida, smiles sympathetically. “Your new sobriety probably won’t help in you being aware of the symptoms. It would have ended up the same with or without the diagnosis, I’m afraid.”

Klaus sighs, slumping. “Yeah, I know,” he utters. He watches the needle go into his arm with a sick fascination; watches blood come out. 

“How are you feeling?” She asks, keeping her eyes trained on the task at hand. Klaus tips his head to the side.

“Shit,” he says, and at the look Ben gives him he sighs. “I’m, uh, tired all the time. I’m freezing, if you couldn’t tell,” he says with a jab at the coat he had to take off and the two long-sleeves he had to roll up to bring his arm out. “Sweat about two buckets per night in my sleep, and one every time I nap. Light-headed, I’ve had a headache for the past two days, and I’ve pretty much been living either in a bed or in a bathroom. My, uh, hair’s been thinning out a bit.”  
Jaida hums her acknowledgement, holding cotton to where the needle pierced his skin for a moment before sitting back.

“Common symptoms,” she tells him. “I’ll prescribe something to help with the nausea and keep you on just the antiretroviral that you’re already on. Ideally, I'd like to keep you in hospital for observation for a while," she says, watching him for a reaction. Klaus swallows, eyes flitting to the pale, emaciated corpse standing by the window.

"I, uh - my Mom's a nurse," he says after a moment of thought. "I live with her."

Something like relief flickers over Jaida's face and she nods. "Great, that help's a ton. If you're more comfortable at home and have her medical support, I don't have a problem with that but I'd still like to see you regularly to keep you monitored."

“Give me a time and I’m all yours,” Klaus says, and then coughs into his hands, weakening his attempt to come off as funny or smooth. 

“Same time?”

“Sure,” he mutters, running his hands down his thighs, listening to her nails clack against her keyboard.

“And what about your appetite?” She asks. Klaus sighs.

“I am hungry,” he says, “but lower than usual and I can’t keep anything down.” 

She nods, looking thoughtful for a moment, then nods her head to the scales at the other end of the room. “Do you mind if I check your weight?” She asks, and Klaus hums.

“Let’s. I, uh, with the whole ex-homeless ex-addict shtick, I’ve pretty much always struggled with that,” he tells her, watching her stand up and head around her desk. He stands up, too, chair scraping on the floor, and then his hands thud down on the desk in front of him as the world turns into a mix of white-noise and static. 

He’s sitting down, a hand on his shoulder, when reality filters back in. He flexes his fingers, exhaling slowly, and looks up at Jaida, standing right in front of him. “Just take a moment,” she says with a gentle smile. He doesn’t think he could stand up immediately if he wanted to. Eventually, though, he swallows and nods.

“I’m good, sorry,” he murmurs, and when he stands up this time he does it much slower. 

“Take your time,” Jaida reassures him, and she keeps a hand on his shoulder as they reach the scales. He stands up on top of it and wonders if he ought to take one of his sweaters off but eventually decides that it probably won’t matter; he doesn’t hold high hopes for whatever the scale is going to read, layers of clothes on or not. 

The doctor jots down the number and he steps off. As they return, thankfully, to the chairs and desk, she comments; “I’d like to work on getting your weight up and hopefully anti-nausea will help with that. If you keep losing a significant amount of weight, phone back in and I’ll see what I can do. If your symptoms get worse or you notice new ones; phone back in.”

Klaus tugs his heavy coat on with sluggish movements. “You got it,” he says, because despite his hatred for hospitals he really does not want to feel any worse than he already does. He takes the new prescription for the anti-nausea, holding the paper in his trembling hands, and Jaida walks him to the door. Klaus offer a short wave by wiggling his fingers at her and smiling, and then he hurries to get out of there.

The Academy is not an overly long walk from the hospital. It didn’t usually take long for him to do, but this trip had taken significantly longer than his first and he thinks the walk home will take even longer, what with his need to sit down and ride out waves of nausea or dizziness and to catch his breath. He grabs his new prescription and almost immediately takes one of the anti-nausea pills, wishing it would kick in immediately. 

He settles onto a bench, breath rattling through his lungs, and he all but tries to drown himself in his coat, closing his eyes against a wave of chills. Ben settles onto the bench beside him.

“I mean, that’s good news,” he offers. “The cancer’s calmed down a bit. That’s great.”

Klaus grunts acknowledgement and agreement. "Yeah, and the medication for it's kicking my ass. If the antiretroviral doesn't manage it as well then it's just gonna come back and the chemo will knock me out."

Ben sighs, looking down at his feet. "Are you going to tell Mom?" He asks. Klaus heaves a sigh, grits his teeth against more chills. 

"I don't know," he murmurs. Ben gives him a look.

"Klaus, please. If you need help and can't get to the hospital-"

"I know," he snaps weakly. "I know, Ben." He stands up, holds the armrest of the bench for a few moments, and then he begins the walk back home. 

He hates the idea of staying in the hospital, but with each passing minute that he feels horrible in he fears what might happen if he doesn't have help. Part of him is stubborn, though, and he wants to go home and sleep and be fine.

"I still think you should tell the others. For your own sake."

"For my sake?" Klaus repeats, scoffing. "What are they going to do to help?"

"Don't tell me you're not scared, Klaus."

He freezes in his step, glaring at the pavement below his feet. Ben stands in front of him. "I am too. You deserve to have their support and be able to turn to them, Klaus."

Klaus grits his teeth, glaring at him. "They already think I'm some pathetic junkie," he says. "I don't need them to add dirty whore to the list."

Ben gives him a look, stepping in front of him when Klaus walks around him. "They're not going to think that. They're idiots, sure, I doubt they know a single thing about AIDS, but they wouldn't think that and you need their help."

"Fuck you," Klaus mutters, shaking his head minutely. He wraps his arms around himself and continues to stagger down the street, occasionally pausing to close his eyes and grit his teeth or lean against a wall. By the time he reaches the Academy he is exhausted, feeling dead on his feet, breathing heavily. He heaves himself through the doors, kicks his shoes off and stumbles inside. 

His eyes fall onto the stairs and his resolve crumbles. He swivels his head to look to the living room and sees that it is empty, so he hurries inside. The fire is lit and he all but drops himself into the chair closest to it. He takes several moments to just close his eyes, grip the chair beneath him and breathe until he finally manages to force himself to sit upright. He shimmies the chair closer to the fireplace, still clad in his sweaters and fur coat, and resists the urge to just stick his hands into the flames. 

Instead, he focuses on breathing. It had only been getting progressively difficult and now, especially after walking, there was an audible wheeze to each breath as if it struggled to claw its way out his throat. His chest feels tight and whenever he has the slight urge to cough, if he gives in he ends up finding himself in a coughing fit that leaves him seeing stars. 

He rethinks the idea of telling Grace about what is going on. 

"Not sounding too hot there."

Diego's voice shatters the air in the living room and Klaus startles slightly, turning to peer at him over his shoulder. He is only just taking his jacket off; he must have just gotten in. He lingers on the spot even when Klaus turns his head back to the fire, pressing his wrist to his mouth in an attempt to quieten himself. 

"Klaus," Ben murmurs, hovering to the side. Klaus ignores him. Diego lingers, fiddling with his jacket. 

"I was thinking about grabbing some coffee," Diego says awkwardly. "If you wanted to come."

Klaus bites his lip, closing his eyes. He hates the tone in Diego's voice. He almost longs for it to be angry and disgusted, longs for Diego to turn his nose up at him and walk away instead of being _worried_.

"Or I'll just bring another one back," sighs Diego, and he hears him turn around, slow footsteps heading to the door. Klaus' breath hitches slightly and he forces his eyes open.

"Diego," he croaks, and hears him stop.

"Huh?"

He stares at the flames dancing in the fireplace, casting out flickering shadows around the room. A chill runs through him. He's so cold.

Diego's shoes click as he takes a few steps forwards, hesitant. Klaus' tongue dashes out across his lips and he refuses to turn around and look at him. 

"I, uh..." Klaus trails off, swallowing dryly. "You know when I stopped smoking? A while ago?" He asks. It has been three weeks since then. It feels like a lifetime. 

"Yeah," says Diego, hesitant, standing near the fire and in his sight, but Klaus doesn't look up at him.

"I went to hospital that morning," Klaus mumbles. "Ben was - Ben was mother-henning me, about the withdrawals and being sick - you know how he can be. So I went for a check-up." He pauses, lips parted, and has to inhale deeply. Diego just waits, staring at him, expecting an answer and unwilling to speak and risk making Klaus back-out. So Klaus just says it. "I, uh. I have AIDS, Diego."

Diego shifts slightly; from foot to foot. "What?"

Klaus forces his eyes to look up from the fire. "AIDS," he repeats. "Not HIV. It's past that."

Diego stares at him unflinchingly, confusion still on his face as if he can't wrap his mind around it. Klaus blunders on. "I probably got it years ago; I was careless, and I've shared needles, and I didn't always care or know if the guy I was with was clean or using a condom, and I just dismissed the symptoms as being a homeless addict and now I've got it and I - I don't know what's going to happen, Diego." 

He covers his face with his hands, exhaling shakily and pressing his fingertips against his eyes. He expects to hear the sounds of Diego retreating; leaving the room, followed by the slam of a door. Instead, Diego's footsteps come closer. "K-Klaus, what?"

He peers out through his fingers at Diego, his eyes wide and soft and sad. "How - how long?"

Klaus ducks his head slightly. "I quit smoking because that's when I found out," he says. "The doctor - she said I would've had it for, like, no less than four years."

Diego curses, standing upright, and Klaus can't help but flinch back in his chair. He doesn't want to know what Diego is thinking. The truth has set in now and he might just stand and curse Klaus out for being so reckless, so dirty, and he might just yell it to the rest of their siblings. He stands up quickly, turning to try and leave and walk away from this, ignore it all, and then everything gets distant and his head spins. The next thing he knows is that Diego is lowering him onto the floor gently, leaning him against his side, sitting down with him. 

"Klaus, hey, hey," he murmurs, and Klaus swallows dryly; gasps a little for breath. He curls a protective arm around his chest as if it might ease the ache in his ribs and he isn’t surprised when it doesn’t do a thing. “What’s wrong? What-“

“Don’t – don’t touch me,” Klaus rasps, trying to shrug his brother off of him, shoving at him and trying to pull himself away on the floor. Diego is stronger than him, though, especially now, and Klaus’ poor struggle does very little to even dislodge him and it leaves him out of breath and wheezing.

He slumps against Diego, letting his brother hold him up. “Chill, chill,” says Diego, and Klaus tips his head back, blinking his dizziness away and trying to get enough air into his lungs to satisfy them.

“Are you okay?” Diego asks him, face pinched with concern. Klaus nods his head.

“It’s just – harder to breathe,” he mutters.

Diego nods his head, watching Klaus hunch his shoulders and hold his arms against his chest, body trembling slightly.

“The withdrawals,” he murmurs. Klaus nods.

“Not withdrawals,” he confirms. “It’s like, a four year old has a better immune system than me right now. It’s shit. It got worse so quickly.”

“W-what did the doctor say?” Diego ask, voice hesitant. Klaus stares at his feet, at the thick, fluffy socks with cats on them. He curls his toes and then pulls his legs close to him.

“I’m on medication for it,” he mumbles. “To try and manage it. She wants me in there for observation if I get worse, but I told her Grace is a nurse.”

“Have you told her?” Diego asks. Klaus shakes his head.

“Not yet; I just got back.”

“We need to tell the others, Klaus-“

“No,” Klaus hurries to say. “I don’t want to – not yet.”

Diego stares at him, raising his eyebrows. “Klaus,” he says, but he shakes his head.

“I know what they’ll think, Diego,” he states, and he reaches his hands out again for the nearby chair to leverage himself up. Diego stands with him and when Klaus sways slightly, he tightens his grip on him and lowers him onto the chair.

“Klaus-“

“You don’t have to pretend, Diego,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not – not disgusted, I know-“

“Klaus, what?” Diego asks, looking a little hurt, and Klaus grits his teeth.

“I let random men fuck me without a condom and never got tested,” he states bitterly and Diego grimaces, looking away. “And you think Luther isn’t going to think I deserve it? That I’m not _easy_ , and _dirty_?” He hisses the words out between his teeth, eyes cold.

Diego makes a noise, giving him a look. “They – we – wouldn’t think that, Klaus,” he says, sounding pained. “I don’t know much about it-“

“You can say it,” Klaus hums airily. “AIDS. You can say it. You won’t catch it from saying it.”

Diego glares at him. He reaches forwards; grabs his bare hands. “I don’t know much about AIDS, okay? I don’t know about it. But I don’t think you’re fucking dirty or that you fucking deserve, and neither would the others.”

Klaus bites his lips and looks down at their hands. There is a new lesion on his hand, albeit a small one, hidden just beneath Diego’s, and a shiver runs down his spine. They haven’t gotten big, but they are still there nonetheless, and being able to see them makes it all worse.

“It’s incurable,” Klaus utters. Diego nods.

“I know that,” he murmurs, quiet.

“It’s bad,” he says, even quieter. Diego doesn’t respond immediately.

“We’ll get through it,” he finally settles on. A chill runs through him; he shivers.

“I don’t know, Diego.”

His brother squeezes his hands, forces him to look back up at him. “We will,” he repeats, voice more confident. “We’ll have to tell Mom, Klaus. She can help. And I – I will. If you need to go to the d-doctor, I’ll take you, or whatever, but the others – they need to know too, Klaus-“

“Not just now,” Klaus interrupts, tone slightly pleading. “Diego, please. I just – not right now. Please.”

Diego stares at him, then falters slightly, closing his eyes and sighing. “Later,” he says, and Klaus nods reluctantly.

“Later.”

“Alright, then,” he relents. Klaus offers him a small smile, looking back down. His leg bounces with anxiety. He hears Diego sigh and then he moves one of his hands to the back of Klaus’ neck, pulling him into a hug. He all but falls into him, tense and somewhat shocked, but then Diego wraps his arms around him and Klaus melts. He returns the hug, curling his fingers into the back of his jumper, forehead resting on Diego’s shoulder.

If Diego notices how his shoulders shake more than usual, or the dampness seeping through his jumper, then he doesn’t mention it. He just tightens his hold around him. Klaus lets himself be afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	5. Chapter 5

It does, admittedly, feel a little nice to have one of his siblings – and Grace, now – know. He doesn’t like how Diego’s eyes shoot to him whenever he enters a room or walks by, whenever he coughs or when he stands up and steadies himself, but it is a slight weight off his shoulders. And, though he doesn’t like to admit it, he finds himself needing his help more and more.

The stairs are hard. It takes him a little (lot) longer than usual to make his way both up and down them, but he can still do them without the help of anything more than the banister. He does try to avoid repeatedly going up and down them, though; he brings his knitting downstairs, carries his headphones and Walkman on him at virtually all times. He wakes up, bathes, goes downstairs, and he remains downstairs for the rest of the day, typically in the living room or, unsurprisingly, in one of the less used bathrooms. At least it is quieter there and he doesn’t run the risk of his siblings noticing him in there as much.

The prescriptions for nausea help only slightly, but it’s enough that he can get another bite or two in at meals, which is good enough for him. The rest of his siblings are obviously suspicious and only grow increasingly more so with each passing day.

He can’t find it in himself to really care. He eats what he can at meals, he takes naps in the beds in the infirmary since it is downstairs and no one comes to check in there, and he sits by the fire when it’s cold. He trudges back upstairs at night and sleeps through the entire night, wakes up drenched in sweat and either heaves himself to the bathroom or half-runs to it, depending on the state of his stomach.

It is late at night. Having fallen asleep in the infirmary, downstairs is eerily quiet; his siblings all asleep now. He blinks blearily, rubs at his eyes and lowers himself from the infirmary bed. He knows it would be easier to just remain there and go back to sleep, that it would save him the daily struggle of the stairs, but a part of him feels like if he stops going up and down them, it is a loss. His siblings wouldn’t believe him if he said he woke up earlier than them all and got downstairs before them, either.

Now, slowly, he stands up, moving as if his body is stiff and slow. Without the protection of the covers, the air feels frigid, like ice against his skin. His fingers curl in the sweater hanging off him, trying to drain out some warmth into his hands, and he stands for a moment, simply shivering.

“Klaus,” says Ben, voice soft. “I think you should just stay downstairs.”

“I’m fine,” Klaus utters. “My bed’s more comfortable anyway.” He inhales, coughs, and then breathes deeply, slowly. Then he begins to walk.

His fingers coil around the banister tightly, holding onto it as he uses it to either push or pull himself up to the next step or to simply balance himself when he closes his eyes and battles a wave of dizziness. His thighs burn and tremble surprisingly at the slight exertion. His lungs ache, struggling to keep up with the work, and then he simply begins to sink downwards.

He hears Ben saying his name, trying to get his attention, but his chest hurts and he can’t breathe. He sits on the stairs, unable to take his hand off the banister above him even as he folds over, resting his forehead against his knees and gasping. His other hand clutches his sweater, tugging it away from his chest as if it is skin-tight rather than loose and baggy.

He just needs to rest. All he needs is a moment to sit down and catch his breath.

The stairs are cool. There is a draft that flows down them and over him and he tries to curl into himself tighter.

The front door opens. Klaus feels the air come in and flood towards him as if it only wants to freeze him.

“Klaus?”

Footsteps get closer to him, closer, closer, until a hand settles on his shoulder. “Klaus? What’s wrong?”

“I just need a minute,” he murmurs, voice muffled with his face against his knees.

“Come on,” Diego says, and his hands slide down his shoulders and go to his arms, trying to coax him up. He pulls him up onto his feet and drapes one of Klaus’ arms around his shoulders, his own winding around his waist. Klaus' thighs tremble and when he takes another step up, they give out again. Diego catches him quickly, and he seems to find it disturbingly easy to all but carry Klaus up the stairs and into his bedroom. He sets him down on his bed and Klaus slumps against the headboard, head tilted back. 

"What happened?" Diego asks, sitting next to him. "Are you okay? Do I need to get Mom? Klaus-"

"No, I'm fine," Klaus breathes, waving one hand dismissively. "I'm fine, I just - I needed a moment, I'm fine."

Diego doesn't say anything for a moment, simply eying Klaus with obvious worry, toying with his bottom lip between his teeth. "Klaus, I think we should tell the others now."

"Don't be stupid," Klaus scoffs, cracking his eyes open to stare at his brother. "I'm _fine_ -"

"They know you're ill," he blurts. Klaus sits up a little, lifting his head, eyes wide.

"Diego, what the fuck-"

"I didn't say anything, but it's obvious, Klaus," Diego says, cutting him off. "It's been too long for the withdrawals and you keep losing weight, you hardly eat, and you look like you're about to pass out every time you stand up. Of course they know something; I'm surprised they've not asked you to have Mom check you over, yet."

Klaus snorts, though he sinks back a little with relief. "Yeah, they don't care, who's surprised?"

"Klaus," groans Diego. "That's not it. They do, but we're shit at talking to one another."

"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one."

Diego snorts softly, raising his eyebrows in agreement. "But they're worried. And Five's about one more cough away from strapping you down and demanding Mom takes your blood."

Klaus hums. "Think any of them have any guesses?" He asks, staring at his hands. Diego gives him a look.

"What?"

"Any guess," he repeats. "Like, oh, is it attention-seeking, or maybe the flu, or the bells of death ringing in the distance?"

" _Klaus_ ," Diego says, voice sharp. "D-don't - don't speak like that."

Klaus huffs, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the wall. "I'm just saying," he mutters, and Diego glares at him.

"Don't fucking say shit like that - you're not _dying_ , Klaus, alright? Shut the fuck up."

Klaus holds his hands up in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. “Sheesh, alright. Don’t be so snappy.”

Diego gives him an unimpressed look, face falling deadpan, and Klaus simply drops his hands back into his lap and looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it, Diego,” he mutters. “Not yet. I – I’m on medication, I’m staying at home, I’ve got another doctor’s appointment; I just want to see what’s going to happen, okay? And, just, like, keep washing your hands and shit, please. I don’t want to die from a cold.”

“ _Klaus_ -“

“Christ, I’m just saying! Wash your fucking hands, I’m not going on a ventilator because you gave me the sniffles with your dirty paws.”

Diego gives him yet another unimpressed look, eyes stern, and Klaus stares right back, raising his eyebrows in challenge. Finally Diego rolls his eyes.

“I will,” he finally says, and though it had really been said as a joke Klaus figures that it is really for the best. The last thing he needs is a cold; he can’t imagine it would be particularly gentle on him. Plus, he thinks, he hadn’t even told Diego about the cancer, although he is determinedly telling himself it will be as good as gone by the time he returns to the doctor’s. No point in making his brother worry about something that will be gone soon.

Diego moves on before he can consider opening up that discussion anyway. “When’s your appointment? I’ll take you.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow, only a little shocked, and then he looks down at his hands. “Three days,” he says, and Diego hums, glancing away in thought before nodding.

“I’ll drive,” he repeats, nodding once more, up and down. His eyes flick aside, lips pressing together. Klaus wonders what he is thinking; wonders what he has been thinking since Klaus told him the news. Maybe Klaus doesn’t want to know.

“Thank you,” Klaus murmurs, glancing up at him.

“Don’t mention it,” says Diego.

###

“Get up.”

Klaus groans, peeling his head off his pillow and blinking blearily at his now-open door, Diego standing in the doorway like a shadow.

“What?” He moans, propping himself up on one of his elbows. His duvet slips slightly down his shoulder slightly and he hurries to pull it back up to his chin, unwilling to expose himself to any potential draft created by having his bedroom door open now. He hadn’t been asleep, but he doesn’t think he was actually awake, either; hovering in some limbo between the both of them, with limited consciousness that was spent on pulling his blankets tighter around his body in response to each shiver that ran through him.

“Get up, it’s breakfast,” Diego says, shifting on the spot. Klaus groans, dropping his head back onto his pillow, facing away from his brother. His eyes slip closed and he fumbles for a moment to find the same comfortable position he was in a moment ago.

“Just – get Mom to bring it up, or something, like yesterday. Or I’ll eat later,” he dismisses, flapping one hand at Diego before hiding it beneath his cover.

“I was going to but the others asked for you,” he says. “They were talking about you.”

Klaus grunts his acknowledgement, processing it for a moment before expelling a heavy sigh that triggers a cough, which only grows into a fit. Diego patiently waits it out, listening to the harsh rasp to Klaus’ breathing with a grimace.

“What,” he pauses, swallows and clears his throat, “were they saying?”

“If you don’t come down, they’re going to make Mom come check on you, but Mom already knows what’s wrong. You’re one wrong question away from Mom accidentally admitting it.”

Klaus sighs, screwing his eyes shut tighter as if the motion might will everything away. He feels exhausted, and his skin gross and clammy, his chest aching and head sore. The last thing he wants is to step out of the small cocoon of warmth and comfort he has scrounged up for himself in his bed covers.

“You can’t keep this up forever, Klaus,” Ben murmurs softly, standing somewhere else in his bedroom – most likely his window.

“Watch me,” he mutters bitterly.

“What?” Asks Diego. Klaus waves him off, but reluctantly and slowly he begins to peel himself off his mattress, sitting upright. He lingers, hands on his lap, fingers pinching his duvet and eyes staring at the wall as he battles the urge to slide right back down and bat away the cold already seeping deeper into him and the urge to actually get up. He closes his eyes, exhales slowly, imagines the next twenty minutes. Diego will help him down the stairs and will let go just outside of the kitchen, Klaus will stand a little straighter to walk in and only slightly stop himself from collapsing into his chair. Grace will set his breakfast down in front of him and sweep his hair from his face and he will pick at it. His siblings will make comments or, if they are feeling brave, they might even confront the elephant in the room. Klaus will then lie his way through breakfast and then hobble into the living room and fall asleep in front of the fire.

“Klaus-“

“Coming,” he mutters when Diego takes a step closer, floorboard creaking beneath his feet. He pulls his eyelids apart, sighs, and shucks the blankets off his body. His legs swing over the edge of his mattress, fluffy-socked feet planting themselves on the floor. He stares at them for a moment as his mind settles firmly back inside his skull, dizziness triggered by moving slowly receding back to the constant level he has grown used to, and then he stands, still moving slow.

He goes to his dresser, fumbling around inside. The clothes on his body smell like sweat, and he probably smells like death what with his nightly routine being to throw up and then collapse in bed and sweat out every bit of moisture in his body, and he hasn’t had the energy to change his bedsheets, either – how Diego keeps a straight face when he enters his bedroom is beyond him – and he doesn’t want his siblings to comment on it.

He peels off the jumper he is wearing, then the t-shirt beneath that, letting both items fall into a heap on the floor. He hears Diego’s sharp intake of breath and he almost startles, having forgotten he was still there.

He risks a glance back to his brother from the corner of his eyes; sees him stuck, staring at his bare torso with a solemn expression. Klaus has always been skinny, his body wrecked by drugs and alcohol and tobacco as he developed and never really giving him the chance to build up a frame like Diego’s or Luther’s, but his body has been worn thin recently and it is obvious now. Klaus tries to avoid looking above his shoulders in mirrors. He doubts Jaida will have anything positive to say at their next appointment.

“Klaus,” Diego says, sounding choked.

“I know,” he utters in response, turning his attention back to the dresser and fishing for clothes. Goosebumps have already arise all over his skin and he can’t tell if the air feels frigid or if it is his own body that feels so cold. He grits his teeth against familiar chills and reaches for the largest, thickest items in his wardrobe – that just so happen to be a sweater from Diego, and one from Luther. He can’t remember when he must have stolen the items of clothing, but he is grateful he did.

“What – what’re the marks?” Diego asks, eyes still staring at his body as if he can see through the layers he has put on. Klaus pauses. His mind feels clouded by fog; how could he forget about them? Though the majority of the lesions on his skin are small, there is a noticeable amount dotted all around his body. He is lucky that there hasn’t been one on his face yet, though there is a noticeable one on his chest that just seems to get bigger, and he fears what that might mean for the cancer when it has only been a week since his last doctor’s appointment.

Klaus swallows, looking down at the floor. “Just, you know. All part of the fun,” he says weakly, and then nods to the door, ignoring Ben’s sigh. “Come on, let’s just get this over with.”

Diego slips to his side, shoulder pressing against his and Klaus has to stop himself from leaning into the warmth radiating off of him. He holds himself upright as they walk down the corridor at a considerably slower than usual pace, and when they approach the stairs Diego’s arm slips around his narrow waist, supporting him more, and then they descend, occasionally going one step at a time, feet together.

“I fucking hate this,” Klaus mutters. Diego grunts.

“You and me both, bro,” he says. He sounds softer, now, as if seeing past the disguise of baggy clothes has struck him in a new way; his hand is heavier on him, too, as if trying to feel the sharp ridge of his bones pushing out against his skin, trying to test if what he saw was true or not. Klaus doesn’t call him out on it; warmth seeps from his hand and he treasures it, though it feels like trying to warm himself up off a single match.

They pause at the stairs, Diego watching him as if he might just keel over and succumb to death right there, and so Klaus stubbornly stands up a little, lifting his head and fixing his eyes on the kitchen door. Diego’s hand slips off of him and they go in, Klaus calling, “I heard you were all missing me terribly.”

He drops himself into his chair with exaggerated clumsiness in some attempt to mask the shaking in his legs, and he crosses one over the other, slumping back. He forces himself to sit up when Grace comes by; sits food in front of him – different from his siblings, gentle on the stomach – and sweeps his hair from his face like he expected.

“Good to see you down, dear,” she says, kissing the top of his head before whisking herself away to make him a drink.

“For once,” comments Five, eyes narrowed as he studies Klaus.

“I was getting my beauty sleep,” Klaus declares. He has to force his voice to be loud and steady and cheerful, forces his hand gestures to be extravagant, forces energy back into himself that he doesn’t have. “Emphasis on the _was_.”

“You never sleep,” accuses Five. His small hands wind their way around a cup of black coffee. Klaus, even if his stomach didn’t feel ready to turn itself inside-out, can’t imagine how he can stomach that this early.

“Well, I’m doing it now,” he replies. “You should try it.” He looks down at his breakfast, picks up his cutlery and twirls it between his skinny fingers before stabbing his food and shovelling it into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it before he can really process the fact that he is eating it.

“What Five is trying to say,” Allison speaks up, giving their smallest brother a pointed look, “is that you don’t look too good, Klaus. It’s been a while, too, and maybe it’d be good to have Grace look you over.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow, eyes briefly flicking to Diego. His brother shrugs subtly, helplessly, and Klaus looks back down at his food to avoid the suspicion glint to Five’s eyes.

“Well,” he says. “You see, I already have. You know a cold wiped me out when we were young; afraid to say years of homelessness hasn’t done much for the ol’ immune system Just a bit of the flu.”

“Klaus,” sighs Ben, voice sad. Klaus grins.

“I’m already feeling better. I’m in Mom’s capable hands.”

Grace blinks at him when she comes by to place a cup of tea beside him, as if struggling to process the lie he told with the facts she has stored away in her mind. She smiles, squeezes his shoulder gently, nodding stiffly.

He turns his attention down to his plate, picking at his food to avoid the looks his siblings share amongst themselves, sceptical and suspicious, but his food all tastes bitter and heavy on his tongue. He forces himself to eat, to chew and to swallow, to ignore the nausea in his stomach and the guilt in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumb baby just tell them :(


	6. Chapter 6

“You should really think about getting an air freshener.”

Diego shoots him a scowl, flexing his hands over the steering wheel of his car. “My car smells fine, thank you.”

Klaus hums sceptically. “Ben disagrees.”

Diego snorts. “You’re just saying that.”

“Can you prove me wrong? Can you? That’s what I thought.”

“Stop using me as an excuse to bully our siblings,” Ben perks up from the backseat, leaning forwards and sticking his head out between him and Diego in the front of the car.

“I’m just saying what you were thinking,” Klaus says, giving him a brief glance.

“I can’t even smell,” he states. Klaus shrugs.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Diego gives him an odd look. Klaus tips his head towards their deceased brother. “Ben,” he says. “He’s being a bitch.”

Both Diego and Ben scoff at that. Ben sinks backwards into his seat, slouching and looking out the window. Klaus falls quiet, watching buildings fly past as Diego takes him closer and closer to the hospital. His leg begins to bounce anxiously and he examines his nails, lips pursed.

The drive comes to an end despite how much he wishes to drag it out. Diego parks thankfully as close to the doors as possible, and Klaus clambers out of the car, hands steadying him against the it.

“Is it just a check-up?” Diego asks him, setting a hand on his elbow as they walk inside. Subconsciously, Klaus steps closer to his brother when a breeze runs over them, trying to leech some of his heat.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Klaus hums, looking around the sterile walls and the pale lights and the corpses, all of the corpses. He considers what is going to happen; he supposes she’ll want to take his weight again, which isn’t promising. He ought to bring up the cough that has been bothering him recently, and the lesions.

He’s glad he thinks that, actually, because he is suddenly reminded of the fact that Diego doesn’t know about that, yet. The cancer. He doesn’t know about it, and Ben is staring at him with that silently pleading look of his again. Diego doesn’t have to come into the room with him; he can keep it all a perfect secret, no matter how much Ben wants him to tell him. What if he goes to this meeting and she says he is perfectly cured of it? No point in worrying Diego, even if that is extremely unlikely. At the very least, in the past few days it seems to have gotten a little better – or, at the very least, has stopped getting worse. The lesions he could see had stopped growing in size and had remained like that since.

It’s with that thought that when his name is called, and when both he and Diego stand up, Klaus rests a hand on Diego’s arm and offers a smile. “I’ll be good,” he says. Diego gives him a look.

“I’m coming in with you, bro,” he states. Tipping his head to the side, Klaus gives him a pleading look.

“Diego,” he says, soft. “Please.”

“Klaus,” his brother utters, reluctant to leave him, but Klaus continues.

“It’s – it’s embarrassing,” he says, which isn’t a lie. Telling Diego about the diagnosis was humiliating enough, but he doesn’t think he could handle having his brother there as he rattled off all of his symptoms. “I’ll tell you what she says afterwards, anyway.”

Ben sighs beside him, shaking his head, and Diego’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Alright,” he says. “Fine. As long as you do.”

Squeezing his arm, Klaus grins easily at him, and then he turns to stagger his way out of the waiting area to talk to his familiar doctor. He follows her to her office, dropping down into the seat opposite her and crosses one leg over the other.

“How have you been?” She asks, gaze distracted for a moment as she clicks on her computer.

“Oh, you know,” says Klaus. “The usual. The nausea’s been a bit better with what you prescribed; I’ve been able to eat a little more lately.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says. “Any new problems?”

“Same old, same old,” Klaus says, fiddling absent-mindedly with the hem of his jumper. “The, uh, the lesions haven’t changed for a few days now; not grown, I’ve not noticed any new ones.”

Jaida nods at that, and when she asks to check a couple he reluctantly pulls his coat and jumper off, leaving him in just the shirt beneath it, exposed to the chill in the room that he doesn’t doubt only he can feel. He tries to ignore it in favour of holding still except for tugging his shirt slightly when needed to allow the doctor to inspect the marks on his skin, but she seems pleased to see that they have stopped in their growth and new ones haven’t formed.

As soon as she steps away, done with looking him over, Klaus is eager to pull his jumper and coat back on as swiftly as he can, hugging his arms close to his torso and wishing he had worn something a bit thicker. Beside him, Ben clears her throat.

“Tell her about the aches,” he utters, and he lifts his head sharply with Ben’s reminded.

“Oh yeah,” he mutters, and offers a smile to Jaida. “Actually, you see, I’ve been having some just – general pain. Muscle pain, lately,” he adds. “I forgot.”

Jaida’s head bobs in a nod, and she briefly returns to typing something on her computer. Klaus bounces his leg and twists his fingers in his jumper. “A common side effect from the antiretroviral,” she tells him. “It’s typically short-term and should go on its own, but if it gets worse then we can see about shifting your medication.”

“So nothing serious?” He clarifies, and exhales softly when she nods her reassurance.

She takes his blood again, wanting to check the CD4 cell count in his blood, but by the end of the check-up Klaus feels – well, not optimistic, but less beaten. It hadn’t been any bad news; simply a normal check-up in his opinion. He rolls his sleeve down once his blood has been taken, sliding once more back into his coat eagerly, and at Jaida’s insistence he remains seated for a little while longer before getting up to leave. A good thing he did, he thinks, because the room spins when he stands up and his knees tremble weakly with the effort of holding him upright, but he is able to support himself on the chair and the desk until it fades.

He offers a thanks to the doctor, leaving on the promise to call should anything change or happen or if he is at all worried, and then he steps outside.

“I still think you should tell Diego, Klaus,” Ben mutters, walking by his side down the corridor.

“You heard her,” he utters back, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “It’s all under control now – not a single new little spot to my collection, nothing’s growing; I’m fine.”

“You can’t hide it forever.”

“Watch me,” Klaus replies cockily, then rounds the corner into the waiting room once more. As soon as he steps out, Diego rises to his feet and comes to his side, resting a hand on his elbow.

“All good?” He asks, studying Klaus as if he might have the entire conversation with the doctor written all over his face.

“All good,” Klaus agrees. When Diego gives him a look, Klaus waves him off with one hand. “It was actually a good check-up, relax. Don’t get your harness in a twist.”

“No new prescriptions or anything?”

“Nope,” says Klaus, popping the _p_. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Diego murmurs, hand heavy on his arm, and Klaus doesn’t shrug it off as they walk to the door together. “’Course. Come on.”

Inside the car, Klaus sinks into his clothes and says, “you should get heated seats.”

Diego raises his eyebrow at Klaus, and then leans forwards to turn the heating up. Warm air filters through the car and Klaus can’t help but sigh in relief at the feeling, shifting on the seat slightly to position himself in front of one fan so that warm air blows directly onto his face. His eyelids feel heavy and he struggles to keep them open. The radio becomes an incoherent, distant murmur, and he has to rest his head against the window beside him to stop it from repeatedly drooping.

A hand rests on his shoulder, shaking him. He startles slightly, lifting his head up and turning to Diego. “What?” He asks, voice heavy with fatigue, and Diego nods his head to the windshield.

“We’re home,” he states, and Klaus turns to look at the academy in front of him, blinking back his surprise.

“Oh,” he utters, and then fumbles to pull off his seatbelt. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, though he isn’t that surprised by it either. He shoves the car door open and gets out, one hand steadying himself against the vehicle for a moment, and he looks forwards to getting inside and just going to bed, feeling worn out from the short walk from Diego’s car into the hospital and back.

He and Diego hardly get ten steps inside, however, before he sees everyone coming out of the kitchen.

“Finally,” Allison comments light-heartedly. “We’ve been waiting for you two to get back,” she says, and Diego and Klaus exchanges glances.

“Uh… why?” Klaus asks dumbly, and Allison gives him a fondly amused look.

“We’re all going out for dinner,” she reminds. “How did you both forget?”

Klaus turns to look at Diego, then at Ben. Simultaneously, all three of them say; “ _shit_.”

Vanya chuckles a little at that, a small smile on her face as she comes by to get her coat hanging up near the door. “You took your time,” Luther utters. “I’m starving.”

“When are you not?” Diego jokes half-heartedly, ignoring the look Luther gives him – but it’s a valid point, Klaus thinks. Luther could devour half of the kitchen and still be up for seconds.

“Where even were you two?” Five asks, hands in his pockets and suspicion in his eyes. Diego and Klaus falter, once more looking to one another for an answer; Diego raises his eyebrows and Klaus does the same in return.

“Figured it’s about time I start learning to drive again,” Klaus finally settles on, clicking his heels together and smiling at Five and determinedly ignoring the way Ben deflates at his continued deflection. “Diego valiantly took the fall of trying to teach me.”

Five hums, entertaining his story. “How’d it go?”

“I think I’m ready for the races,” Klaus declares, shrugging casually. “And uh, honestly, the whole driving thing kinda has me beat – I think I’m just going to… go lie down. Bring back some leftovers for me, yeah?” He takes a few steps away, intending to just slip by the all and go upstairs, but Allison sets a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve hardly seen you lately,” she says. “And we’re trying to do family lunches. Come on, you can lay down after.”

Klaus purses his lips, eyes bouncing away to avoid the soft gaze of his sister. He’s sure he’d just end up falling asleep in the car on the way to whatever restaurant they plan to, but part of him hopes they plan to drive – he isn’t sure he could make a walk anywhere that takes longer than five minutes to get to. But Allison ducks her head to find his eyes, smiling softly and encouragingly at him, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” he groans. “Since I am just the life of the party and I know you all would be dreadfully bored without my presence.”

“On second thought, maybe you should stay,” retorts Five, and Klaus sticks his tongue out at the old man, receiving an eye roll in return.

“Just – let me go grab something,” he says, and once more spins on his heels to go upstairs, but Allison squeezes his wrist.

“You just said you were coming,” she says, and he sighs.

“I am! I just – need something.”

“Like what?” Asks Luther, and his tone is less interrogational for once and more simply curious. “We’ve been waiting for you both so we can go – we got a reservation.”

Klaus runs his tongue along his teeth, eying the staircase and his bedroom beyond and, tucked away in his bedside drawer, his little pill bottle of anti-nausea. He hasn’t taken them today – woke up late and planned to take it after his check-up at the hospital. He can already feel the unease of his stomach, but surely one dose isn’t going to make him uncontrollably spew his guts everywhere. He can get through one meal with them.

“Never mind,” he sighs, shoulders slumping, and he nods to the door. “Let’s go, then. What are you all waiting for?”

Pleased, his siblings all gather their coats and begin to filter out the door – Allison, Luther and Vanya head in the direction of Allison’s car, while Five teleports into the passenger’s seat of Diego’s. Just before Klaus can step outside, Diego snatches his elbow.

“You okay for this?” He asks, voice low, as if Five’s power is super-hearing and he might be able to hear them from the car.

“Me? I’m perfectly fine,” Klaus dismisses, waving one hand, but Diego tightens his grip on his arm and doesn’t let him go to the car. Sighing, Klaus faces him and gives him a look. “It’s one meal. I’m fine.”

Diego holds his gaze for several moments before letting go and nodding, and they slowly step up to the car. “Alright, but if you need to go, just tell me and I’ll bring you back home – I’ll make up an excuse, if you don’t want to talk just yet.”

Klaus allows himself a moment, hand on the car’s door handle, and he smiles at Diego. “Thanks,” he utters, and then slips into the backseat beside Ben.

He truly is glad now that he told Diego, even if some days he can’t help but feel nearly dirty whenever his brother touches him without hesitation, even if it is just a gentle hand on his shoulder or back. His skin crawls on the worse days, and he thinks about the other people he has slept with and can’t remember their face or where they are to tell them to get checked, and he thinks about Dave, although he tries not to.

Dave occupies most of his thoughts whether he wants him to or not. He occupies most of his dreams and all of his nightmares, and he thinks about trying to continue conjuring him only to feel defeated and hopeless when it never works out, or too scared about actually seeing Dave again to even try in the first place.

He tries not to let his mind wander too much, but it always ends up on the same indisputable fact that makes Klaus feel horrible; if a bullet hadn’t killed Dave, then Klaus would have inevitably. He had used to dream about Dave not being shot, and the two of them being discharged and starting a life together, but now he can’t stomach the thought. They’d get discharged, and they’d move into their own house together, and everything would be perfect – until they both just… kept getting sicker. Klaus would get worse first, and Dave would try everything to care for him until he was utterly bed-bound and no doctor would know what to do – know what was wrong. And then Dave would slow down, and show the same symptoms, and would they both just die in that house and be forgotten about? Watch each other die, unable to help either themselves or one another, and it would all be Klaus’ fault.

The door beside him opens abruptly and fingers snap in front of his face. Startling, Klaus blinks out of his nauseating train of thought to see Five. “Come on, we’re here, Klaus,” he states, watching him curiously, and Klaus swallows heavily, blinks back the stinging in his eyes, and clambers shakily out of the car.

“Right – right behind you,” he stammers, and this time when Diego reaches out to steady him with a hand on his elbow, Klaus does shrug him off.

The restaurant is nice. Allison must have picked it, because it looks expensive and way out of anyone else’s league, and they are led to a table reserved for all of them in a quieter corner of the restaurant. The lights are dim which is a blessing on Klaus’ sore head, and the music is quiet, too, for which he is thankful.

He settles into a seat between Diego and Ben – Allison reserved a table for all seven of them, which makes Ben smile even if no one else can see him – and then he subconsciously eyes out the bathroom. Only when he knows where it is in case of an emergency does he dare look at the menu.

He goes for a salad, hoping it will be more forgiving on his stomach, along with a simple water, even if his tame order puts him on the receiving end of a couple of odd looks from his siblings. Although the biggest burger accompanied by a chocolate milkshake might typically be his favoured order, he can hardly even stomach the thought of having it.

His siblings fall into easy chatter over their meals, mainly discussing the progress Vanya has been making – and Klaus perks up to congratulate her genuinely – along with a few comments about Allison’s progress with Claire recently. Diego even speaks up to say that he is considering giving the police academy another go, which everyone encourages him for, and Klaus focuses on pushing around lettuce and tomatoes on the plate in front of him.

They must have sat right in the way of a draft, he thinks, and he has to resist the urge to pull his jacket back on, but his whole body is seized by continuous shivers. A waiter comes by to check on them and to his left, Diego orders a tea despite never drinking tea. When it comes, he subtly sits it in front of Klaus and continues talking, and Klaus is happy to hug the hot drink to his chest.

He scrapes the cheese off anything he picks up on his fork, finding it too heavy in his mouth to stomach comfortably, and the flavour of the tomatoes is too strong on his tongue for him to eat many of them. He ends up picking at whatever lettuce has as little dressing on it as possible and cradling the tea to himself, sipping it slowly and revelling in the warmth it offers him.

“You’ve not ate much,” comments someone, and Klaus pries open his eyelids to look at Vanya, sitting beside Ben. Her voice is quiet enough that none of the other siblings pick up on what she says and also turn their attention to him, thankfully, and Klaus offers a sheepish smile.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and stabs another piece of lettuce with his fork and swallows it down like sandpaper. “Just tired.”

“You sure?” Vanya asks, soft and concerned, and the care makes him soften, too. He can’t help but imagine what she’d think if she knew. She’d probably pity him with a bitter tone, like she had in her book, and think that it was only inevitable he end up with this illness what with his reckless lifestyle.

“Just peachy,” he promises, and sets his fork back down. “I’ll just – I’m just going to the bathroom,” he adds, and he braces his hands on the table and rises slowly to his feet. He ignores Diego’s watchful gaze, waving him away, and when his legs feel like they won’t give out immediately, he steps away from the table and in the direction of the bathroom.

He hides in one of the cubicles, leaning back against the door and breathing slowly, and when he inhales just wrong and triggers a coughing fit, he muffles it with his hand.

“Diego said he’d bring you home if you needed it, Klaus,” Ben murmurs, stepping into the cubicle with him, and any joke Klaus thinks of is fleeting.

“I know,” he breathes raggedly. The coughing has left him out of breath and even more exhausted than he was prior, and he finds his legs unwilling to hold him up any longer; he begins to slide down the cubicle door until he is sitting. He just – he just needs a moment to catch his breath and let his body rest, and then he’ll get up and go back out and manage to eat a little more.

He tells himself this, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around his stomach and slumping against the cubicle wall. He ought to get up, he knows, and he tells himself to just do it, but his body refuses to listen to his orders. He just needs a minute.

His eyes flutter shut and his head droops low, exhaustion overcoming him, and he can’t fight it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda unhappy with this chapter?? But like, feel free to let me know what you thought of it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague warning for throwing up in this chapter

Fifteen minutes pass before Five decides to get up. His gaze roams between Klaus’ still-empty chair, the hardly-touched salad on the table and the bathroom.

It isn’t a secret that something is going on with his brother; what he might once have been able to pass off as withdrawals is obviously now no longer that, and though he’d hate to imagine his brother has been lying to them and has relapsed, if that is the case then it is evidently something harder he has been on, enough to leave him looking as wrecked as he does, and he has entertained Klaus’ stories long enough.

But Five does not feel as if Klaus has relapsed, and he is suspicious of Diego obviously knowing what is going on and yet refusing to tell the others, and, it seems, joining in on Klaus’ stories.

When Diego looks at the bathroom door with his lips pressed together, Five rises to his feet and heads over to it before he can. He steps into the bathroom, looking around and not immediately seeing his brother by the sinks or urinals, so he turns his gaze to the few cubicles and says, “Klaus?”

His eyes fall onto the only closed cubicle and he looks down at the gap between the floor and the door, and his eyes narrow. Before he can say anything, however, the door behind him opens and he turns around to see Diego. He greets him with a quirk of his eyebrows and Diego swallows, hesitant, then looks over Five to the cubicles.

There is only one cubicle in use, the door closed and locked, and the person inside, obviously Klaus, is sitting on the floor against the door, and he can hear the heavy rasp of his breathing. Diego’s hands twitch and he brushes past Five to stand by the door, rolling his knuckles over it. “Klaus?” He asks, tapping the door. “Klaus, are you okay in there?”

Stepping back to allow Diego to approach the cubicle, Five folds his arms over his chest and watches from a distance. Klaus doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, and Diego tries to jiggle the lock on the door. He gets more urgent as he can’t open the door and Klaus continues to be unresponsive, and so Five steps forwards, places a hand on his arm to make him step back, and then he pushes through space to step into the tight space of the cubicle, narrowly avoiding stepping on Klaus himself.

His brother is crumpled up on the floor, arms wound around himself and head dipping low at an uncomfortable position, leaning against the floor, and asleep.

“Five? Is he okay? Open the door Five,” Diego says, knocking on it from the outside again. Five rolls his eyes and crouches down, eying his brother and the surroundings. There’s nothing around him, and though he still highly doubts his brother has relapsed and just went to the bathroom to shoot up, he still can’t help but look around for any drug paraphernalia around them. Not seeing any only solidifies the fact that there is something else going on with him.

He reaches out, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, lifting his head slightly. “Klaus,” he says, shaking him. “Wake up, Klaus.”

It takes several moments of shaking to rouse his brother. Klaus inhales sharply and moans, shifting, his eyelids fluttering. He swallows dryly before stammering, “just… just five more minutes.”

Eyes narrowing, he taps his cheek. “Nope, come on Klaus. Get up.”

Eyebrows furrowing at his voice, Klaus’ eyes slip open and he startles slightly at seeing Five so close, and then looks around the place in growing confusion.

“You went to the bathroom fifteen minutes ago,” says Five. “We’re out for dinner, remember? I found you asleep here.”

Klaus’ eyes drift back to Five, his gaze still heavy with exhaustion. “Oh,” is all he utters.

“Five, open the door,” Diego insists. With a sigh Five reaches up above them to unlock the door, and then he takes hold of Klaus’ forearms when he goes to stand but sways. They move out of the way of the door for Diego to nudge it open and look Klaus up and down, hardly concealing the worry in his gaze. He reaches out a hand, resting it on Klaus’ shoulder and ducks to catch his distant gaze. “You okay?” He asks, and Klaus blinks, staring at the wall. Diego opens his mouth to ask again, looking even more worried, but then Klaus turns around quickly, shoving both Diego and Five’s hands off of him, and he collapses to his knees in front of the toilet in time to throw up.

Five grimaces, taking a step back to press himself against the cubicle wall as Klaus vomits before reaching up to flush the toilet, breathing heavily.

Diego seems intent to forget about Five’s presence. He comes in, rests a hand on Klaus’ back and crouches beside him. “Hey, you’re alright,” he soothes. With narrowed eyes, Five takes backwards steps out of the cubicle to give them more space, watching how Klaus simply sits for several moments and breathes.

When Klaus feels settled, both of them turn and exit the cubicle. Diego maintains his hand on his back.

“So,” says Five. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or not?”

Klaus runs a hand down his face, looking away and sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says poorly. Five raises an eyebrow and so he adds, “I just feel a little under the weather, okay? That’s it.”

“You’ve felt under the weather for a while now, and that typically doesn’t include falling asleep on a dirty toilet floor.”

Klaus narrows his eyes. “You don’t know me,” he retorts, and Five can’t help but roll his eyes at his insistence at deflecting the situation. Klaus may be good at that, but Five has always been patient and wiling to draw things out for as long as necessary. Forty decades in an apocalyptic wasteland would force one to learn a thing or two about patience.

“Then come back and eat. We’ve almost finished everything and you’ve hardly touched yours,” he states, and he gives him a challenging look.

“Are you really going to make the man who just threw up in a fancy restaurant go back out there? I’m tired,” he frowns. Five doesn’t doubt he is; he is leaning against Diego’s hand and though he tries to sound whiny, tries to put off Five from continuing to prod at him, his tone falls flat as if he can’t find enough motivation to put up a half-convincing display.

Diego nudges him; raises his eyebrows in a silent question and Klaus frowns, staring at Five who doesn’t drop his gaze.

Then Klaus says, “I think I’m late for an AA meeting.”

Five rolls his eyes once more, shaking his head. “If something’s wrong,” he says, beginning to turn towards the bathroom door. “Then I trust that you’ll tell us soon.”

Five returns to his chair at the table.

“What was that about?” Allison asks him. Picking up his fork and spearing a piece of pasta, Five shrugs.

“Don’t know,” he admits. “I think one of them needs to do something.”

Sure enough, when the bathroom door opens again, Diego and Klaus come out and instead of returning to the table they head to the door, going out to Diego’s car. Five won’t lie for Klaus or help cover for him, but nor does he see a reason to start conspiring against his brother.

Either Klaus will reveal what’s going on, either by sitting down and talking or delaying it as long as he can until the truth comes to light anyway, or he well get over whatever is happening. Five would be lying if he said he isn’t curious, however, and perhaps a little concerned, and so hopes it might be the first option, though he highly doubts it.

With a sigh, he watches Diego drive away with Klaus in the passenger’s seat, slumped against the window.

###

“You could’ve told him, bro,” Diego murmurs after turning the volume on the radio down. Klaus grunts.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He muses. He tips his head slightly against the car window to be able to watch buildings rush by better and burrows deeper into his sweater. In his insistence to just go home, he had left his coat over the back of his chair in the restaurant. Diego assured him he’d bring it back, as he’d drop Klaus off at the Academy and then go back to the restaurant, but that meant that until he got into bed and wrapped himself up in his duvet, then he would be cold without the extra layer of his thick coat. At least Diego had turned up the heating in his car for him.

“They’re going to find out eventually,” Diego says. Klaus heaves a dramatic sigh, closing his eyes as if he might be able to block Diego’s voice out.

“Might as well not make it easy for them, then,” he mutters. His arms wrap tighter around himself, his fingers curling into his sweater.

“They care about you,” Diego states. Klaus resists the urge to snort and doesn’t manage; it falls from his lips before he can stop it and from the corner of his eyes he sees Diego give him a look. “I’m being serious, Klaus.”

Groaning, Klaus flaps a hand in his direction. “I know, I know.”

“Then why won’t you just tell them?” Diego asks, and Klaus grits his teeth.

“Because.”

“Because _why_ , Klaus?”

“I don’t have to if I don’t want to.”

“But they want to help-“

“I know how it sounds, Diego,” Klaus snaps. He can’t help himself; his body goes tense and he tugs at his sweater slightly, keeping his gaze determinedly on the window rather than his brother.

Sounding genuinely confused, Diego furrows his eyebrows and asks, “what do you mean?”

“AIDS,” he says, spitting the word from his mouth. “I know how it sounds. You know, I met an older guy with it – I met quite a few people with it, actually. All had fascinating stories to tell. You know what they all had in common?”

Diego doesn’t reply for several moments and Klaus isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. Tough, he thinks, because Klaus doesn’t like the answer either, but he had to deal with it.

“They were all homeless.”

“What?”

Klaus hums. “All of them; homeless. Some of them were younger, some of them were older; some guys, some girls. Couple of junkies. All of them were homeless. Didn’t have any family that’d accept them after they found out. None of them, or maybe only one or two, were on medication for it. The majority of them are probably dead, now that I think of it.”

Using the car’s mirror, he watches Diego’s reaction without having to turn and look at him and risk meeting his eyes.

Diego’s jaw tics and he swallows. “Klaus,” he says, voice low. “None of us are going to – to kick you out for having AIDS.”

“I know,” Klaus mutters. “But you didn’t _see_ them, Diego.”

His brother glances briefly at him, seeing only the back of his head as he refuses to turn and meet his gaze. Eventually, Diego returns his gaze to the road and he doesn’t know what to say; they drive in silence until they reach the Academy and as soon as the car comes to a stop, Klaus throws open the door and swings his legs out.

Diego undoes his own seatbelt and Klaus waves a hand. “I’ve got it,” he says. “I’ll be fine. You should get back.”

Diego stares at him for a moment, conflicted, before simply nodding his head and sinking back into his chair. Klaus closes the car door behind him and then he turns, walking up the stairs and slipping through the front doors. Once he steps inside he can hear Diego begin to drive away again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You good?”

Ben gravitates to his side, raising an eyebrow at him, and Klaus nods. “Peachy,” he mutters. He would be, if one ignored the unease in his stomach, and the ache in his body and head, and the thick exhaustion dragging him down. Nothing sounded more heavenly than a simple nap in that moment, though perhaps taking his anti-nausea meds came in at a close second.

He faces the stairs head-on, looking up them with narrowed eyes. His meds are upstairs and he knows his own bed would be more comfortable than the one in the infirmary downstairs, but if he chose to rest in the infirmary then he would avoid the stairs.

Sighing, Klaus sat his hand on the bannister and began to drag himself upwards.

He was breathless by the time he reached the top of the stairs, having to take several moments to catch his breath and steady himself on the bannister before moving forwards. In his bedroom he hurried to shake out his anti-nausea meds, throwing them back with ease, and then he kicked off his boots across the room and tumbled gracelessly into his bed, tugging the covers around him.

“You know Diego was right. No one would kick you out, Klaus.”

Ben’s voice cut through his sleep-hazy mind just before he could doze off and he groaned, tugging the covers up to his chin. “I wasn’t saying they were going to.”

“They’re not going to shun you, either.”

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I think we should talk,” insists Ben, much to Klaus’ dismay.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Why are you afraid of telling the others?”

Klaus bristles at the question and glares at the wall opposite him. “I’m _not_.”

“Then why won’t you tell them?”

“I don’t have to,” he simply says, huffing. “Now, conversation finished, can I sleep? Do I have your permission?”

“This isn’t going to go away, Klaus,” Ben states, and Klaus laughs.

“Feeling brave today, Benny? No beating around the bush, huh?”

He comes closer, perching on the edge of the bed beside Klaus’ feet. “I hate it too, you know. I’m scared too. But it isn’t going to go away and you won’t be able to hide it forever. You deserve their support.”

“I don’t need their support,” Klaus growls, tilting his face away when he can spot Ben from the corner of his eye; determined to keep him completely out of his peripherals completely.

“It’d be nice,” offers Ben, voice soft. “And whether you need it or not,” he sounds sceptical at that, and Klaus ignores his tone, “you deserve it.”

Klaus huffs once more, stubborn, and closes his eyes. He tries not to let Ben’s words process; tries not to listen to his stupid logic and reassurance.

It doesn’t matter if they support him. Klaus has seen and met people with AIDS; he has heard their stories, seen their struggles. He’s heard about the taboo and the stigma and seen the still prevalent homophobia that seems to go hand in hand with it. It doesn’t matter if he isn’t about to get shunned or kicked out, because Klaus knows what it’s like better than his siblings do, even before he actually started having sex. It was like a ghost in itself, looming over everyone, clinging to the corners of everyone’s mind, everyone knowing someone who knew someone it had affected in some way.

Despite the taboo, and the precautions, and the fear and paranoia, Klaus had been careless enough somewhere to let his guard down and get swept up by it. Had his situation been a little different, Diego could have snatched his hand off Klaus once he told him. He could have stopped talking to him completely. He could have told all of their siblings, and they could have called him dirty and disgusting, and they could have kicked him out. Had his situation been a little different, he could be on the streets, no access to medication that might better or ease or slow his symptoms and the disease’s progression. He wonders how long he’d survive in that situation.

He is lucky, and he knows he is, and he knows his siblings won’t, realistically, kick him out and send him back to the streets. But he knows that plenty of other people have had that happen to them, and he knows about the whispers between people when they know about or think they know someone has it, and he can’t help but realise those stigmas are now directed to him. He is the one being whispered about; he is the statistic on the posters; the warnings on leaflets. He’s part of that, now, and he feels dirty.

“Just leave me alone,” Klaus says, voice losing his fight and falling flat, heavy with the complete exhausted he feels. It gives Ben pause; makes him fall quiet and stop pestering him, at least.

As he begins to doze off, Klaus finds his thoughts drifting once more to Dave. He hasn’t tried to conjure him in a while now and he isn’t sure if it is because he feels too tired and weak to attempt to do such a thing or if he is purposefully putting off conjuring Dave in case it actually works. What would he even say to him? What would Dave have to say? If anything?

He is afraid to think about it. He has never loved anyone like he loves Dave and now he is left to wonder whether or not the freckles dotted around his body had ever been a little too big to be a freckle, or if they had shown up suddenly, if they had changed in size or multiplied, and if they had only begun to show up after that first time they had sex without a condom.

Perhaps it is better if he doesn’t see Dave again, he thinks, though the thought feels like a punch to the gut. He knows Dave would hate to see him so ill – Dave had always cared about Klaus more than he should have, more than anyone else ever had – and Dave wouldn’t accept the fact that Klaus had been careless and it had ended up hurting him. He wouldn’t realise, or accept the idea that it was Klaus’ fault, and Klaus isn’t sure if he can deal with Dave’s soft words, or his kind eyes, or his love. Not when he doesn’t deserve it.

If Ben hears him crying, Klaus falls asleep too quickly for him to say anything.


End file.
